Turning of the Seasons
by kasey8473
Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here. Pairings are WillKate, AdhemarChristiana. COMPLETE
1. Chapter One

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: One

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: Prince Edward was feared as a soldier and in one battle, he had 3000 civilians slaughtered. History paints a slightly different picture of him as the movie and here, I'll merge them slightly. It was documented the Prince Edward's behavior, in the years before his death in 1376, became different from what it had been. This fic will include a depiction of a downward spiral of irrational behavior.

On a side note: I'll admit it: I'm a shameless Adhemar/Christiana 'shipper!

* * *

The thin wailing cry of a newborn rang about the twisting corridors of the large manor house. The man, his face haggard and weary, stood over the swaddled child, staring almost sadly at it.

A defeat that turned into a victory had just as quickly become a defeat once more. The prize he had managed to snatch from his adversaries' grasp was a prize no longer, her body cold in the bed of the grave. All that remained was this small baby that he knew for a certainty was not his.

Jocelyn had taken a malicious delight in announcing to him that not only had she gone to Thatcher's bed, but that their times together had born fruit. She'd known she was pregnant on their wedding day and taunted him with it. She'd been as deliberately cruel with her knowledge as he himself was on occasion.

He should send the child away; pen a letter for Thatcher to come and take the child, yet was strangely hesitant to do so. In his own way, Adhemar had loved Jocelyn and the child was all that was left of her. The boy had her turn of the eyes and the set of the chin was definitely hers. A handsome boy, he had to admit.

His gaze lifted, found Christiana curled in the chair in the corner. She mourned as though her sister had been lost. Likely she _had_ considered Jocelyn a sister and vice-versa. Jocelyn had treated the woman as such. She'd not slept since Jocelyn died during the birth two days earlier, nor had she taken more than a few bites of food. There were deep shadows under her eyes and a puffiness to her face that constant tears brought about.

Turning, he left the nursery room, striding down the hallway and into the master's chambers. It was here that Jocelyn died, her last words asking Christiana to make sure Will knew she'd loved him with her final breath. She'd had no words for her husband; the man who'd swallowed his pride to take tender care of her. She'd ignored the man who'd not demanded she rid herself of the child or demanded she join him in his bed. No words for him at all. She'd ignored him.

He was not her choice, so therefore, he meant nothing in her life save a necessity. Would that he could have dismissed her as easily. Impossible. He'd wanted her so badly that the need had engulfed him, only to find that sometimes, getting one's desire was a hell unto itself.

Adhemar had not wanted to touch her while she was sullied with Thatcher's child. He'd promised himself that once the child was born, then he'd have Jocelyn for his own. _Then_, she'd finally be his and his alone.

But she had died instead, having never been his at all.

It had never occurred to him that she might die in such a normal thing as childbirth. No, no ordinary death would befall the vivacious Jocelyn, only one of high drama. Death had come though, and the only drama was the promise she'd extracted from Christiana before simply closing her eyes and releasing her breath.

She was gone.

He had to face it and move on; find a new wife. It was not easy to do either. There was the child to deal with. Jocelyn had not lived long enough to even know she'd given birth to a son, much less express a preference in his name. Adhemar had picked the first name he could think of during the baptism. Christopher. It was a good name and sturdy. Thatcher surely wouldn't object to it. If, by chance he did, it would be easy enough to change the name later.

A decision had been made, Adhemar realized with a jolt, wondering if he ought to attempt to get some sleep. The boy would be taken to Thatcher. He and Christiana would load Jocelyn's belongings into a wagon and set out. Thatcher could have all her things if he chose. There was no possession among them that was dear to Adhemar; no trinket from him that she'd accepted save her wedding ring.

Jocelyn always refused gifts from him. He supposed it was one more way for her to reaffirm that he wasn't her choice for a husband. He'd been unlucky enough to be in the same room with her when her father informed her of his decision. She'd come to Adhemar and raked her nails viciously across his cheek before any had thought to restrain her. He'd stayed still, letting the blood drip down his face, showing no emotion as she called him names no true lady should know.

From behind him came a slight noise, the scuffing of a shoe on the floor. Christiana was in the open doorway, staring at him. He stared back and couldn't quite find it within himself to reprimand her for not looking away as she should. She was a good woman, calm and the sort to accept her lot with grace. He'd become fond of her these months, as fond as he could become of anyone.

For example, he knew she'd had a sweetheart in Thatcher's group, whether the redhead or the dark hared man he didn't know. Jocelyn had given her the chance to remain with them and Christiana had chosen to come with her mistress. She'd performed her duty as both a servant and friend. Over the past months, he'd caught the tail end of several of her interactions with Jocelyn on the subject of himself. She'd pleaded with Jocelyn to accept where she'd ended up and let Sir Will go. Obviously, she'd wanted to keep a peace in the household, yet Jocelyn had ignored her counsel, provoking him whenever she had the chance. Eventually, Christiana had given up, remaining silent and wincing when her mistress needled him.

"You look tired, my lord. You should rest." She smothered a yawn with slender fingers.

He snorted. "Look who's talking. Rest yourself. I'm perfectly fine with little sleep. In battle I barely have time to rest anyway."

"There is no battle here. Not any longer." She cocked her head, as though listening to the baby cry, though there was no cry sounding now. "Am I to be sent away now?"

"Not right this second." Adhemar licked his lips and went to sit on the edge of the bed. "Do you wish to be sent away?" The leg that had been injured in that last joust with Thatcher ached fiercely and he rubbed the muscles along his thigh, fingers digging, seeking to relieve that ache.

She hugged herself and when she spoke, her voice broke with anguish and tears. "Please do not play games with me, my lord. Speak it plain. She is the only reason I was here."

Did she want to stay? He decided he wouldn't mind if she did. The maid's presence had always been pleasant. "I play no games. Should you wish to leave, I shall see you arrive safely at your destination."

Christiana swallowed hard. "Going is not my decision, my lord. It's yours and I've nowhere else to go."

"Perhaps Thatcher...." He trailed off, noticing that she flinched slightly at the name. A twinge of curiosity at her reaction shot through him, dying quickly under the weight of weariness.

"Nowhere," she repeated, dropping her gaze.

With a long sigh, he got up and crossed to her. "I've no plans for you to leave." He brushed his fingers along her arms in a brief touch. "Go and rest. I order you to."

* * *

Over the course of the next week, Christiana found herself Adhemar's constant companion. He made every effort possible to draw her from her depression and she eventually realized that his efforts were also to make himself feel better. He bullied her into eating and ordered her to drink a drugged wine at night so that she'd sleep.

During the previous months, Jocelyn had used her as a go-between so that she herself wouldn't have to speak to him any more than necessary. Christiana was therefore used to his company and his whims, yet now she noticed another side to the man, one she'd not previously comprehended.

He was lonely.

He had money, riches and power, but the lifelong companionship of a woman was missing. Jocelyn had certainly not given him any time of day unless he'd forced her to. Even then, she'd made it clear her thoughts were elsewhere.

Christiana understood all that and willingly spent her time with him, partly for him and mostly for herself. Her days were occupied by standing over the swaddled babe and wondering how giving life could result in death or sitting by herself and wondering the same thing. At least by keeping his company she could turn her thoughts elsewhere.

Elsewhere. Like to that attraction she held for him, a thing that had slowly crept up as the days had flown into weeks. Thoughts of her failed romance with Roland had slipped away. It had not taken long for her to find herself staring at Adhemar in the hall and admiring the way his hair curled at his neck or tumbled across his brow. She'd watch him from the window as he trained in the courtyard, pretending to Jocelyn that she only sat at the window for the afternoon light on her sewing. Each time Jocelyn would send her to him on an errand, she'd had to take deep breaths to calm herself before going before him. Eventually, she'd been able to deal with her growing feelings and retain composure. This was where she stood now.

She made her way towards the stable. Spring lay full upon the land, wildflowers beginning to color the ground about the manor walls. The rich scent of freshly tilled earth filled the air. It had been a long time since she'd gone riding and the Count had asked her to come along with him to inspect the cottages outside the walls. He'd been vague in the definition of what he hoped to accomplish with the outing. It was his right to be so, even if it was a trifle irksome.

Germaine greeted her. "Beautiful day."

"I thought so."

He motioned her inside the building. "He's waiting for you."

An odd light in the man's eyes made her pause. "Is something wrong?"

Germaine cast a glance over his shoulder. "I hope not. We shouldn't keep him waiting."

The morning began well. Only three of them set out and Germaine trailed behind, his horse hampered down with a basket. Christiana didn't ask what was in the basket, assuming it was medicines or something of the sort, but as time passed, and they didn't stop, her curiosity got the better of her.

"My lord," she asked.

"Yes, Christiana?"

"What's the basket for?"

An amused glance her way. "It's our food."

Oh. He planned on a picnic meal outside. She made a little nod, noting in a distracted manner than they were going nowhere near the cottages. In fact, they were moving away from the cluster of them. Her heart beat somewhat faster for a few seconds before she shook all thoughts of him seducing her from her head. If he'd wanted to seduce her, surely he'd have done so a long time before now. Besides, Germaine was with them.

Later, she would recall how very naïve that thought had been. There were different sorts of seductions and the enticing of mind and emotion did not necessarily require privacy.

"Tell me of yourself," he demanded quietly as Germaine laid out their picnic lunch.

Christiana's gaze met Germaine's for a brief second and the herald shrugged as if to say 'humor him'. "What does my lord wish to know?"

Adhemar settled himself on the blanket, motioned for her to join him. "Tell me of your family; how you came to Jocelyn's service."

Christiana sat and wondered just where to begin that story. There were several places, but the best telling, she decided, was from the death of her parents. "They took me in as a ward when my parents died." The action was not a happy one in the beginning, for Jocelyn's family -- her father specifically -- resented her for a reason she'd never discovered. He'd plundered the land that was for her dowry and made her a maid for his only daughter.

Monies had been set aside for Christiana's dowry as well as the land, the coin better protected. He could not touch it. The man constantly told Christiana that if Jocelyn tired of her, she'd be tossed in the street. Fortunately, Christiana and Jocelyn had become friends, the tension Christiana felt eased greatly by that friendship. In Jocelyn's company, Christiana was happy and content. _Had_ been so.

"A ward," the man across from her asked, watching her intently.

"Yes."

"Then...you're rightfully a lady."

He'd grasped the crux of it quick enough. "Technically. In all practicality though, I'm a maid and have been for nearly as long as I can remember."

"How interesting." The last word came out with a sly cast, as though she'd given him a great weapon in some way. Although Christiana tried, she couldn't imagine what that weapon could possibly be.

The picnic was restful, as restful as time in his presence could be. He casually entertained her with stories of life as a soldier, even calling upon Germaine to enter the conversation, which the herald did after a startled glance.

And there, it began, the slow seduction of her mind and emotions.

He was not a bad man, she thought, not like we all decided him to be. He's simply lonely. Over the next few weeks, her status in the manor made a curious change. By small increments, Christiana found she no longer worked, unless being Adhemar's companion was considered work. Well, with his mood swings, she supposed that should be the case. She became used to this arrangement and when he once more invited her on a picnic, Christiana didn't hesitate to accept.

* * *

Inconsolable was the best word to describe how Will had reacted to the news of his beloved Jocelyn's forced marriage to Count Adhemar. The lovers had been so certain that nothing would separate them after the joust that they'd made all sorts of plans for their life together.

Kate rolled onto her side and contemplated the still sleeping Will. A ray of sunlight fell onto his form. She couldn't help but admire the way light and shadow wrapped about his body. His skin took on a golden cast under the light and shadow sculpted the muscles. Long curled lashes rested on his cheeks and, in slumber, he lost the hard edge that knowing Adhemar had brought about. Asleep, she thought with a tiny smile, there is still an air of innocence about him.

Raising up slightly, she rested on one forearm, her glance going about the room they slept in. Prince Edward had remained generous to Will, seemingly as disappointed as Will in the final outcome. Kate remembered Edward's facial expression mimicking Will's. If Jocelyn had been English, or a resident of Aquitaine at least, Edward could have intervened and used royal influence. She was French however, so his hands were effectively tied.

Immediately, Edward had invited Will to return to Aquitaine with him. He needed an honorable man at his side he'd insisted, and Kate supposed there was truth to that. War had broken out -- again -- with France soon after they returned, King Charles lending his support to the people Edward was ruling over. The taxes, it was explained away as. Edward had levied unreasonable taxes upon the people to pay debts for his part in helping Peter the Cruel return to power in Castille. He raised taxes to pay his debts and the people had appealed to Charles for help, which the monarch did without hesitation.

With nowhere definite to travel to and no way to earn a fortune aside from his skills with lance and sword, Will had jumped right into the life of a soldier. A title did not bring money into a purse. Action did. The only wrinkle in his life now, was her.

Kate returned to her back, transferring her gaze to the ceiling. Working her job in an army was far different than doing so on the tournament circuit. The main reason for that, was how few women traveled with the army. Kate had never considered herself naïve before, yet the doings of this army in it's off-time opened her eyes even more.

At first, the men were courteous, kind even, speaking to her with respect. She suspected her status as Will's friend had much to do with that. Then, as the small group met up with Edward's larger forces and kept moving, more men added daily, that began to change. The men pouring in to serve were a rough lot, given to fighting amongst themselves and behaving much as she recalled hearing that Count Adhemar's men had behaved.

Edward didn't notice. Either that, or he no longer cared. He'd begun losing control of his temper. Occasionally, the warm and compassionate man Kate remembered from tournament disappeared completely. In such instances, men hid rather than be in the Prince's path.

Roland and Wat took turns guarding her at all times. A woman fair of face and figure was greatly desired among the men and she'd lost count of how many propositions she'd refused as the days and nights sped by. They were becoming bold now, one man assaulting her while she walked to her work tent. Edward, in one of his rational moods, had sent the man to route.

He'd helped her from the ground, brushed dirt from her clothes. She'd actually witnessed the change that came over him. He'd stared at her, then cocked his head, his hands grasping instead of brushing, eyes on the huge rent in her bodice. Instinct had caused her to ignore the change and thank him for his help before hurrying away. Since then, she avoided the Prince. While she liked Edward, she'd no desire to become a royal mistress.

It was becoming difficult to work and Kate wondered how soon until she too -- out of self-preservation -- would have to kiss Will goodbye for a final time and hurry away. She didn't want to go. However, when he spent more time protecting her than going about his duties, it was clear that she was a hindrance. Kate would rather leave than see him killed in the camp over her, a growing likelihood.

She could put up quite a physical fight if she needed to, but would be no match for one of these seasoned and rather mercenary knights. She already knew she was no match for even slim Wat. He'd demonstrated that just the day before. In seconds, he'd subdued her, over and over, his voice choked with emotion as he described what could happen to her. A sobering experience.

Kate hated being helpless. She hated the whole feeling that her life was out of control and at the mercy of another. Luckily, her husband had been a good man and she knew Will was as well.

"Mmm...."

Speaking of Will. She glanced to her left at him. He was waking. Finally. She watched him stretch and open his eyes. He gave her an out-of-focus stare before blinking and grinning sleepily.

"Well, good morning."

"What's good about it," she asked playfully.

"You're here." He rolled onto his side, hand lifting to stroke her cheek. "That makes it glorious, Kate."

Yes, she decided. She'd greatly regret the necessity of leaving this man when the time came for it.


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Two

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

* * *

The last of their meal had been packed up. Germaine gave an excuse that sounded rather feeble to Christiana's ears and left her alone with Count Adhemar. Though she'd been alone with him many times in the past weeks, there was a subtle change in the tension between them that kept her back ram-rod straight and her manner a bit more formal than it had been. He was planning something and she knew it with every fiber of her being, but she couldn't leave as Germaine had. He'd engineered that quite well. Germaine was leading the horses back to the manor and the plan was that she and the Count would walk back, taking the afternoon to note further things that needed fixing on the property.

Once the sounds of Germaine's passage through the woods faded away, Adhemar returned to the blanket and stretched out beside her. Resting on one forearm, he drew a finger slowly along the length of her thigh. She tried not to flinch away. This casual touch carried with it the symbolism of that change between them. He'd not touched her in a caressing manner before. Her breath stilled in her chest and she forced herself to slowly breathe in and out.

"You'll marry me in one week."

It was said in such a way as to be matter-of-fact; a happening she should have expected. Christiana felt her stomach tighten painfully. No words came to mind to say. What could she say anyway? So she sat still, staring at him.

Cold arrogance glittered in his eyes as he watched and enjoyed her shocked reaction to his blunt announcement. A slight smile graced his lips. "Jocelyn's father is glad to be rid of you," he added, "though the loss of your dowry pains him to a great extent. I believe he was still hoping to find some way to claim it as his own."

Christiana managed to swallow the lump that had grown in her throat, yet still she could not speak. A thousand images of the horrible things she knew him capable of flitted across her mind in the space of a few seconds and she carefully set her goblet down before she sloshed the liquid all over her skirts. Yes, she should have expected this development, she decided, thinking back over the past weeks. His attitude and the attitude of others had made her what she'd never been allowed to acknowledge before: a lady. She'd been enjoying that freedom, become used to it as she'd become used to him. Her lips parted.

"What, no comment? No words of protestation delivered in a hysterical tone?" His voice wrapped about the words almost lovingly, as though he relished saying each one. "Really Christiana, at least give me a scowl of anger or something besides blank surprise. I know you perfectly capable of both."

"I don't want to," she whispered and he leaned forward a little, cocking his head. The scents of leather and of horse drifted to her.

"Don't want to what? Change your expression or marry me? Doubtless the latter, but I'd like clarification on the matter." His hand flattened on her thigh, warm through the cloth of her dress.

"I don't want to marry you."

He nodded encouragingly. "Of course you don't. I never thought you did."

A mantle of numbness dropped over her and all she could do was sit and wonder if she'd slipped into sleep and this was all a dream. "Why me?" Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes and she blinked them back. It was true that she'd been sympathetic to him recently. He was lonely, he'd lost Jocelyn and was left with a baby that was not his to take care of. She'd been willing to be a companion; to talk and laugh and service _those_ needs. That sort of relationship. By being a companion, she could still dream of him at night.

But not _marriage_ and all that word implied. Strange how it had never occurred to her that he might see her as marriageable.

I should have, she thought. I should have seen what weapon I gave him that day.

Marriage loomed large in her mind, a cliff towering over her. There was fear and there was...desire. It wouldn't take him long to learn of her feelings for him if they married and once she was exposed, he could use that to his advantage. Perhaps she'd erred in fantasizing him as anything other than what he really was. This man was not the gentle, loving husband in her dreams, but rather a ruthless, selfish and domineering man who'd not hesitate to use anything to further his own cause. Her reasons for sympathy for him didn't change who he was really.

"You know when to be silent, for one. Two, you're orphaned nobility and available. You're right here and I don't have to waste any more time looking for a suitable woman. I've had you watched, so I know you've no lovers here. Any children you bear shall be mine. Since you're not used to behaving as a noblewoman, I can tell you exactly how I want you to behave and I'll be obeyed -- a beautiful effect of you having been trained as a servant. You've many advantages over other women, Christiana." He blinked, ran his gaze along her in an assessing fashion. "Your figure is adequate and I'll even allow that you're somewhat pretty." His fingers danced along her leg, as though he was anticipating touching her bare flesh, the cloth of her dress whetting his appetite.

To hear her attributes as he saw them laid out so mercenarily, Christiana found that she couldn't take it any longer. With a gasp, she rolled up onto her knees, her back to him, intending to stand and walk the long way back to the manor. That was as far as she got. His arms went about her hips, jerking her back to him, and though she pried at his hands with her own, he would not release her. She struggled until she could not do so any longer, relaxing back against him in an exhausted slump.

The Count chuckled, his hold on her easing slightly, just enough so she could breathe easily. "Have I offended you, Christiana? You _did_ ask why. And here I'd thought we were getting on well, moving steadily towards a more _physical_ relationship. Would you rather be a mistress than a wife?" His voice was husky and melodious to her ears.

When she refused to answer, he turned her in his embrace to face him. Her left arm was caught between them, held fast to his chest in an awkward and painful angle. Her hair fell over her face, a small annoyance, but she didn't push it away. Why should she when all it would do was bring him into closer focus? She remembered Jocelyn raging at the thought of intimate relations with the man; her certainty that he'd be as inept in the bedroom as he was at giving flowery complements.

Strangely, Christiana suspected otherwise. He may not have a silver tongue for the sort of complements Jocelyn had favored, but there was a magnetism to him that hinted at deeper talents not as easily seen in polite company. In fact, she could imagine him as Pan with remarkable ease, the satyr of all satyrs.

"My christened name is Damien. You may begin using it today." His hand pushed her hair from her face before his fingers curved about her neck. Bending his head, he brushed his lips to hers. "Relax."

The kiss was not gentle, yet neither was it rough. He feathered his lips across hers and took what he wanted, teased and tasted how he wanted. Christiana's heart threatened to burst from her chest with it's fast pounding and she couldn't seem to make the decision to push him away or not. Her indecision gave her a long preview of what awaited her in a week.

He excited her, this kiss holding the thrill of something previously forbidden to her. It occurred to her that she _could_ return the kiss. She could enjoy the caress and give in return and claim she was accepting his plan. He'd think her dutiful, just as he'd expected her to be.

She could and yet.... She couldn't.

Christiana wrenched away, surprised when he didn't grab at her a second time. She got to her feet and began to run back to the manor.

* * *

Adhemar remained on the blanket, listening to her flight from him and basking in the satisfaction of a plan well completed. He sank down onto his back and placed his hands laced together behind his head. The canopy of leaves above him was studied in an absent-minded way. He enjoyed the shifting path of the sunlight through the gently swaying treetops.

For the first time in well over a year, he felt like himself again. The decision first on the child and then on Christiana had turned something inside him back into what he'd been before he'd glimpsed Jocelyn in the stands.

Once more, he had a definite purpose that was not obsessive, for now he was aware of just how strangely his behavior had become. He'd let a desire for a woman rule him, take over every aspect of his life. No more. No woman would cause him to lose himself as Jocelyn had. He was done with such women as she had been.

Marrying Christiana was a stroke of pure genius, solving far more current problems than problems he anticipated coming about. She was all that he'd told her and then some. She was silent in a watchful and wise manner, cautious, and beautiful in a serene fashion that would long outlast a beauty such as Jocelyn's had been. He expected handsome children from her.

Best of all, she'd not interrupt his life like another woman would by grace of the fact that she was already settled within it.

Genius.

With a satisfied sigh, Adhemar got to his feet. It would take her awhile to reach the manor on foot and he had to return to lay out the path for her to come to him before their wedding day.

* * *

"It's gone."

She whirled. Germaine stood in the doorway to her tiny room, the one on the corridor, a kind expression on his face. "Gone where?" She'd searched everywhere for the monies she'd been paid for her services and found nothing in her belongings.

"As soon as he returned, my lord took your funds and put them in a locked box in his chamber."

The knowledge that he'd been there in her room and somehow returned before her was like a punch in the stomach, taking all of her breath with it. "He's here," she managed weakly.

Apology crept into his eyes. "Your reaction was expected, Christiana. He knew you'd protest and suspected your first inclination would be to leave. So," he crossed his arms, "he had a horse waiting not far from your picnic. He arrived back long before you did."

Christiana sank onto her low bed. To the end, there were always going to be men making her life decisions for her. First Jocelyn's father and now Count Adhemar. The former must be chuckling in glee over deciding who she'd marry, likely assuming she hated the man as Jocelyn had. As for the latter, he was getting his way far easier than he had with Jocelyn. There was no man to fight him over her.

That thought brought tears into her eyes. There was no man to fight for her. Her girlish fantasies of the kind, gentle and misunderstood Adhemar had popped most rudely to the pinprick that was this reality.

"I have to leave, Germaine. I can't marry...him."

Germaine crossed to her and knelt before her, gently taking her hands in his. "Have you ever wondered why so many of us stay with my lord and work as hard as we can to please him?" At her nod, he continued. "The reason, is that while my lord is a harsh and demanding man, he also takes care of what he considers his. You'll want for nothing, Christiana."

"Nothing monetary. What of love, of emotion?"

His hands squeezed hers reassuringly. "My lord is also a man of intense emotion. When he feels, he does so in a way few can. Sadness slides into funereal proportions, joy is pure giddiness and anger can easily become hate. He feels so intensely, Christiana...." Germaine broke off, seemed to weigh his next words before giving them voice. "He chose you not because you were here -- please don't believe anything of the sort -- but because you're good for him. You don't hesitate to spend time with him, to share his interests. That is significant. I believe that my lord has become as close to...to..._loving_ you as he can love anyone."

She shook her head. Adhemar didn't love her, he wanted her. Two very different things. "He loved Jocelyn."

"He loved the challenge of her, not her. With you, I've seen him behave with a tenderness he rarely shows."

"But I can't marry him." Her protestation was vehement and heart-felt.

"Why? Why can't you? Your guardian has given his permission, negotiated the terms. My lord has made certain that what he knew was yours comes to this house. Even some of the original land from your dowry has been retained. He's being extremely generous. I'm frankly impressed that you've reached such high regard in his eyes. He'd not be so mercenary in terms for something he cared little for, Christiana. So why can't you marry him?"

How could she explain her feelings in a way that didn't sound silly? How could she tell Germaine that she'd built an imaginary world with Damien Adhemar in her mind and marrying him would take the safety of that away? She'd be set adrift in a boat with him upon a cruel and contrary ocean. Her safe dreams were gone and reality was not what she imagined it to be. The truth of Adhemar was far different from that fantasy she'd cultivated. "He's real."

"Of course he is. We all are." His brow furrowed.

"No. I mean he's _real_, not the safe image I've had in my mind. Before today, I could pretend and twist his character to suit myself. I could have him kind and gentle and everything I've ever wanted in a man. Now, that's gone. A pretend game that I've played with myself falls away and the real man is there before me. I...." She took a couple deep breaths in an effort to steady herself. "I romanticized him, Germaine, and I knew I was, but it was safe because he was married to Jocelyn and it was only pretend. I had no chance to have him mine...."

"Ahh." He nodded and sighed. "You've been creating romances in your head."

"Yes!"

Germaine released her and stood. "The reality frightens you."

She nodded, grateful that he understood. At least she didn't sound like a raving lunatic. What she tried to explain did make sense.

"My lord Adhemar will not abuse you, Christiana. You'll be taken care of."

Standing, she went to the curtain that separated her tiny room from the master's chambers and peered through. "I've seen how he cares for his squires, punching them when they displease him."

"He's gentler with women. My lord has a softer regard for ladies."

She whirled, letting the curtain fall closed. "So he seeks to compromise me in the valley by the forest? Some regard."

A lopsided smile quirked his lips. "I said he was gentler and had a softer regard. I didn't say he wasn't a man with a man's natural inclinations towards a pretty woman."

"I want to leave."

"You can't." Germaine shrugged.

"Why not?"

"He's ordered it. You can't take a horse or carriage or leave the walls surrounding the manor unless he escorts you. You'll be stopped and any helping you publicly flogged for disobedience."

"Flogged?" Now she returned to sit on her bed. "He can't care if I go."

"Have you not listened?" Exasperation colored his words and she sensed that Germaine was beginning to think she was protesting too much. "With the offer accepted and marriage pending, you're his now. He's concerned with everything he sees as his. If you do manage to leave, he'll find you, for you're his."

"A possession," she scoffed.

"Yes, but treasured." Germaine went to the door and glanced back at her. "Lady Jocelyn was once treasured, but then she made a decision. I'd advise you not to make the same one she did."


	3. Chapter Three

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Three

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: For those wanting Adhemar and Christiana romance, please be patient.

* * *

Christiana was a vexing woman, Germaine decided once more, making his way to his lord's favorite spot on the defensive walls. He took a moment to admire Count Adhemar's care with the falcon, then continued up the stair. Falconry was one of his lord's favorite leisure pastimes. Usually, Christiana could be found out there with him, but for two days, she'd avoided his lord, unceasing in her wailing protestations to the marriage that was already arranged.

Really, what did she expect? Her guardian had seen this as a good match and the terms were quickly decided, the only tough negotiation being his lord's insistence on all the property and monies Christiana originally was supposed to come with or no marriage at all. It helped that Count Adhemar had loaned the man a sizeable sum of monies soon after his marriage to Lady Jocelyn. His lord was admirable in business, knowing just when and how to take payment from a man for a loan. Oh, he was human and had made mistakes, but for the most part, his business practices were exemplary. Money hadn't been on hand, but -- surprise -- the land that had been a part of Christiana's dowry originally would do in payment. Simply add it and erase the debt.

The girl should be grateful she wasn't being sent back to that family.

His lord glanced towards him and Germaine inclined his head in a respectful gesture. "My lord."

"So? Is your task completed?"

Germaine moved to him, nodding. "It is."

"And?"

"Her writings are filled with romantic longings, a larger explanation of what she told me the other day. Her romanticized view of you is what's causing most of her tears."

Adhemar snorted, rolled his eyes. "She's getting her idle daydream, plus a jump in her social status and she cries for an unrealistic image. Women. They're truly perplexing, are they not, Germaine?"

"Quite." He'd at least understood something of the Lady Jocelyn. Her temper tantrums had stemmed largely from being thwarted in her plans to marry William Thatcher. Plain temper was something Germaine could understand. Christiana's attitude of love though.... It was absurd. How many women were really allowed to marry for that emotion? He didn't know offhand of a single one. Women married to further the family coffers or gain allies and that was all.

Count Adhemar shook his head. "Speak with her again. Remind her of the reception Jocelyn's father always gave her. Then, I want you to stress just how decently life goes for her here, under my protection, and how much better it will be after I marry her. Play up that fondness chord you struck the other day and continue to be a friend to her, listen if she should choose to tell her secrets."

Germaine nodded. "Of course, my lord." He was dismissed with a toss of his lord's head, moving quickly down the stairs and back towards the manor. In a little while, he'd go and talk with Christiana again, try and make her see reason. He feared it a futile effort.

* * *

Arms crossed over her breasts and a frown upon her lips, Christiana watched Germaine and Adhemar on the wall. She could only imagine what they spoke of. Undoubtedly her. She'd come to realize that Germaine was a spy for Adhemar and not her real friend.

Took me long enough, she thought darkly, turning from the window. Germaine had been so kind to her that she'd forgotten how he'd trailed Adhemar during tournament, eager to do that one's orders. Now, she was afraid that every thing she'd told him had reached Adhemar's ears.

She'd erred in admitting what she'd done. For that matter, she'd erred quite a bit recently in one way or another and look where it had gotten her. Her dream was coming true whether she wanted it to or not.

This house was going to be hers to manage, with Adhemar's approval of course. She'd peruse menus, plan celebrations, defend the walls if need be, and always remember to defer to him in everything. He is lord and a wife defers to her husband. She'd been taught that same as Jocelyn, though such a relationship had not seemed real to them at the time. A part of her longed to rebel as Jocelyn had, to put aside society's restrictions and defy him, but in reality -- of which she had plenty right now -- she knew herself incapable of that much rebellion.

At the first glimmer of displeasure along his brow, she'd cave in and do things his way if only to keep the peace. He'd been right about her in that regard. She would obey out of habit and stay silent from habit as well.

Going to the chest by the door, she opened it and dug deep among the clothes, drawing out one embroidered scarf. She ran a finger over the flowers and remembered Jocelyn laughing at how diligently Christiana had worked on the flowers. Hurry up, she'd said, or we'll be late to meet Will and Roland.

That meeting hadn't come about after all. Jocelyn had been summoned to her father right then and then it had been Christiana's lone task to run out into London to William Thatcher and tell of the news. During her frightening run to them, she'd thought that at least she and Roland could still be happy. Too bad she'd learned differently. She sat on the floor, skirts disrupting the rushes, and held the last scarf she'd worked on for Jocelyn. The flowers remained unfinished, the hem ragged, a reminder of what had been. Happy times deserted.

"So what do I do now," she whispered, the flimsy cloth spread over her lap. Jocelyn would have reacted vocally, but Christiana could not. She couldn't express the feelings inside her that turned and twisted in tumultuous waves. She was...silent. Adhemar had once called her a 'tactful maid' and she supposed it could be true.

She began to cry, once more opening the floodgates of emotion.

Her fascination with Count Adhemar had been a diversion, lifting her at first from the despair of the loss of Roland's affections. However, the diversion took on a life of it's own and now she was back where she'd begun, her thoughts moving in circles as the hours and days passed.

She ended up in the nursery five days after his announcement, holding the child close to her breast and staring out the window. Periodically, tears would trek down her cheeks and she'd let them. It was better to let all her emotion out than to hold it in and have it pried from her. She'd let herself feel until it all dried up and she could be calm once more. Then, she'd put aside childish things and go to him as he wanted, as was expected.

Sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to be a man in this world. Men had the privileges and women had to take what they were given, like scraps tossed to a yapping dog to keep it quiet. Sighing, she sat in the nearby chair, crossing her legs and carefully adjusting her skirts so as not to wake the slumbering baby.

She'd almost accepted that she was marrying Adhemar, that she'd not fallen asleep and dreamed. The only difference in it was the man himself. She had to accept that he wasn't what she'd fantasized him to be. Oh, she knew it, but accepting was still another thing entirely.

Millicent, the wet nurse, came into the room and Christiana gave up Christopher to her, then began the short walk to the master's chambers, where she knew Adhemar was waiting. She'd heard him not too long before talking to Germaine, making plans for the wedding.

As though she wasn't even there.

Perhaps she wasn't there in his mind. Perhaps the fact that she'd spent five days avoiding him had made him treat her as though she was not present in the manor and she'd only arrive in his sight when she went to him in accepting and gracious manner. Well, she'd be accepting, but nowhere did it say she had to be gracious.

The door was open and he was plucking strings on a lute, fingers moving idly in a melody she recalled Jocelyn's grandmother saying had been popular in her time. She'd learned he favored slow tunes featuring only one instrument, usually a lute or flute. Faster tempos and several instruments seemed to give him a headache. Incomprehensible noise, he'd called it. Jocelyn had delighted in bringing in musicians to play, exhorting them to play faster and louder while he'd sat in his chair looking ill.

As she stepped into the room, he stopped playing, the lute across his lap, a nod of his head dismissing the man with him. Christiana took another step into the room and shut the door, leaning against it, her hands flat behind her on the panel. It was as far as she could make herself go.

He watched her for a long moment, then set the lute aside, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "I take it by ensuring privacy between us, you're consenting to the marriage?"

"Where was I given a choice?"

A nod of his head in acknowledgement of that. "You weren't, not really."

"Then does it matter if I consent or not?"

Adhemar sat back in his chair, resting his chin on his palm. "Yes, it does matter."

Surprisingly, his answer gave her the strength in her quivering legs to walk towards him. "How? How does it matter? I don't understand."

Stretching a leg out, he nudged her towards the chair beside him with his foot. He didn't speak until she had sat. "It matters a great deal, Christiana. That you have decided to come to me shows me that you're willing to accept it and work towards a harmonious wedded life. If you'd not come, I'd be fairly certain you'd fight me every step of the way like Jocelyn and that an overly firm hand would be necessary. You should be happy you chose the option you did."

Happy? "You'll pardon me I hope, my lord, if I don't jump for joy." The words were out of her lips before she even realized she'd thought them.

"This time, I suppose I'll be lenient." He glanced askance at her, amusement thankfully on those features. "We get along, Christiana. That doesn't have to end." Reasonable words, a tactic she suspected, intended to lull her into complacency.

She nodded, then licked her lips. "Am I allowed to know any of the arrangements or what time I'll need to be dressed?"

"Of course. Look through Jocelyn's clothing, if you like, for a dress."

They were being so very civilized and she had the urge to laugh. "I'd rather not."

"Suit yourself. I don't care what you wear as long as it's not obviously a servant's garment." That glance roamed over her dress, lingering so long upon her bosom that she had to steel herself to keep from crossing her arms. "There is an attraction between us. Don't bother denying it. An attraction is a lovely bonus. My parents were content for years with not even that between them."

Christiana looked away. "I deny nothing."

"We'll see." The sound of the lute reached her ears and she turned her head to see him once more holding it and plucking strings. "Do you play?"

"No." She'd never learned the lute. That had been Jocelyn's instrument. The flute had been Christiana's. It seemed so much simpler to her.

Hazel eyes met hers squarely, a question in those depths. "Would you care to learn?"

The word 'no' sprung to her lips and she pushed it back. When he chose to be kind, it was best to fall into his mood. It made his other moods bearable, knowing he could be gentle if he chose. It was moods such as this that had fueled her imaginings. "Yes."

He stopped playing and stood, taking his chair over by the bench and motioning her to him. "Come. Sit on the bench."

As soon as she did, the instrument was placed in her lap and he sat in the chair behind her. His arms went around her, hands maneuvering hers into the correct position for holding the instrument. His breath was hot upon her neck, arms a solid embrace as he taught her about the instrument.

It seemed they'd only begun when Germaine knocked at the door. The relief upon his face as he noted her presence was nearly comical and he excused himself quickly, closing the panel behind him. The spell was broken. She maneuvered herself from Adhemar's arms and stood, crossing her arms as she stared down at him. He put the lute to one side, watching her in return.

"Germaine was the one following me, wasn't he?"

He leaned back in the chair, propped his feet on the bench and gave her a smirk. "Of course. Who else here would you trust?"

She took a few steps to the right, then the left and began to pace the floor, kicking up rushes as she did so. "I don't like being followed."

"And I don't like being surprised with a child not of my blood." His hands laced across his stomach and, while she should have been feeling more in control by standing, something in his pose reminded her of a king watching a peasant in a throne room. It was an uncomfortable sensation.

Turning, she spoke over her shoulder to him. "Perhaps Germaine is not an honorable guard --" His laugh was quick and genuine, hearty amusement in the sound.

"He's honorable, Christiana. His wife would castrate him if he played about. She's a jealous woman who adores having a husband in his position. So you see," there was the sound of wood scraping across the floor and then his hands were on her arms, roughly jerking her to face him. "You can't cast suspicion. I know for a fact that Germaine would not touch you and since he's watched you, I know you're untouched. Well...." A taunting light came into his eyes. "Untouched as far as my household goes. Somehow I doubt you kept yourself from your sweetheart in Thatcher's group since Jocelyn didn't see fit to guard her virtue. Birds of a feather."

It took her a second to realize what he meant by the remark. Birds of a feather.... He'd repeatedly called Jocelyn's meetings with Will her 'time of whoring about'. Therefore he meant.... Anger rushed forward within her and her hand raised to slap him. He didn't stop her, blinking for a few seconds after she'd lain her hand smartly across his cheek. Then, Adhemar grasped her face in his hands, eyes slightly narrowed.

"And there, sweet, is that temper I've wanted a glimpse of." His lips pressed to first one corner of her mouth, then the other. "More. Give me much, much more, hmmm?" Her jaw was explored with lips and hands, his fingers moving, sliding down her body, squeezing their way to her waist.

She yelped at the roughness of those touches, her own hands pushing at him. His chest was solid, unyielding against her palms. "Let me go." This embrace was much like the one in the valley save for one thing. In the valley he'd held an air of restraint about him, as though every movement he -- and she -- had made had been calculated. This embrace did not have that. It was unstructured and raw with desire, the concentration of passion nearly overpowering.

Teeth nipped the skin along her jaw. Not enough to hurt, but to startle. "Make me."

Christiana's eyes went wide. This wasn't a provocation. He really wanted her to react. He wanted her to fight him. It was at that moment that reality took a sharp turn.

His breaths were quick, as though he'd been running and Christiana twisted from him, uncaring that his grip to keep hold of her caused bruises. She simply wanted away from him. She needed time to think about what she'd just learned and if she remained in this room, she knew for a certainty that their encounter would progress quickly into an intimacy she wasn't prepared for. Her shin banged painfully against the bench and twice she nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to be away from him.

It wasn't until she was in the great hall surrounded by people that she could draw a breath without her lips trembling. Germaine had been right, it seemed. Adhemar did feel intensely. However, how messed up was it that her struggle, mild as it had been, had excited him? She didn't think that was normal, though her romantic experience with men was limited largely to Roland and Adhemar and those two were far different from one another. It could very well be normal and she simply wasn't aware of it.

Unfortunately, she'd no one to ask. She'd have to muddle through this all by herself.

* * *

His hands were shaking like those of a stripling lad before his first encounter with a woman. Adhemar concentrated on breathing, on calming down. That glimpse of her temper had warmed him far quicker than any of Jocelyn's fits of temper had. Why? What was it about Christiana's fit that had roused him to such a degree and so quickly?

The fact that she strives to be even tempered, he thought. That's what it is. Christiana is a woman of even temper. She radiates calm from her body even as the world around her is in tatters and to see that tight reign upon her anger released is to see the magnificence that belongs only to a goddess.

A shaky laugh left him and he sank into the nearest chair. She wasn't the meek little thing he'd anticipated. Really, he'd not expected his goading words to elicit any response from her whatsoever, so her slap was incredibly unexpected and frankly enjoyable for it. He'd predicted her reaction to his news of their marriage, right down to her hunt for money to leave and the chat with Germaine, but the slap she'd turned his cheek with had not been expected. He couldn't predict her every movement as he'd thought, causing him to look at her a bit closer.

She wanted romance and a gentle passion -- longings written down by her own hand --, but she was a woman, so did she really know what she wanted? Not likely. Women never knew what they wanted. It was up to the man to tell them, to guide them in their desires. He'd have to do that; show her what she truly wanted deep down.

Adhemar watched a maid come into the room and begin straightening.

How would she react when he saw her next? He found himself imagining all sorts of possibilities. Would she keep her eyes lowered in embarrassment, or would there be some remnant of that ire in those depths? Perhaps something in-between those two?

He'd have to wait and see. With a shrug of his shoulders, he got up and went in search of his steward, putting all thought of Christiana from his mind.


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Four

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

* * *

It occurred to Will, as he returned to his room for the evening, that Kate had been behaving oddly for days. She avoided any gathering that had more than their friends present and said very little in response to his verbal plans for their future together. Indeed, she shied away from the future like a nervous horse. He paused outside the door, laying his hand upon the jamb and bending his head.

Events were escalating.

Just that morning, Roland had come to him, telling him of yet another incident with Kate at the center. The men that had joined Edward's service in the past weeks would not leave Kate alone. She was a constant target for their coarse humor. Now, Will wasn't averse to coarse humor. He'd been known to make ribald jests himself and he knew Kate had as well, but the jokes those men told surpassed what was decent and tread heavily into obscenity. He didn't know what to do.

His words with several of them had no effect and he feared what would happen once they were back on the road with only flimsy tent material separating Kate from them. He'd taken all the suggestions Roland and Wat could come up with and implemented them, all failures. What else could he do? Where could he go for help? With a deep breath, Will turned from his door and strode down the hall, rapping his knuckles on one panel. It opened and he was invited inside.

Edward had retired for the night, but he was still awake, writing letters while a man stood waiting for the correspondence. He looked up. "Will. You're out late."

Will hated bothering Edward, though the man had told him, on several occasions, that they were friends and he should never hesitate to bring his worries to him. He'd taken that declaration of friendship and begun to see the prince as a friend. So why was he hesitating now? "I've a matter needs your input."

Brows raised, Edward signed the letter, sprinkled it with sand and handed it to the waiting man. In moments, they were alone. "Go on."

"It's about Kate."

"Ahh," Edward gave a wry smile and stood, moving to the fire and taking one of the chairs there. He stretched his long legs out in a comfortable position and motioned to Will. "Join me. Kate is exceptional on many levels. What's your matter?"

Taking the proffered chair, Will found he couldn't relax as the prince had done and remained seated tall. He felt restless, wanted to stand and pace. The prince didn't like people doing that though, so Will stilled the impulse. "There are some men who will not let her work. I've tried speaking with them and even fighting them--"

"Is that where those marks you've been sporting on your face came from?"

He nodded and continued. "They persist. She cannot complete the work you commissioned at this rate and aside from posting my men as guards to her, I've no idea of what to do next."

Edward nodded, sympathy on his features and a darkness sliding into gaze, something that for all the world, reminded Will of Count Adhemar. There was something calculating and sly in Edward's stare right then that gave Will the uncomfortable feeling that something wasn't quite right. Everything was right however, for Will hadn't seen or heard anything that could cause such an expression. The Prince seemed himself and not himself at the same time. "I'll have words with them. _Kate_ is not to be hurt. If that does not help, then I'll post my own guard to her. She is, after all, working for the Crown. I can't have _her_ hurt."

"Thank you. I --"

"It's quite alright, Will. This is something that should be brought to me. Anything concerning Kate should be brought to me." He looked to the flames of the fire. "Good and loyal workers are hard to come by these days and Kate is..._good_."

Will nodded and found himself dismissed. Those few short strides to his room, he pondered Edward's emphasis on only a few words in their conversation. It had almost sounded as though he cared if Kate was injured and didn't care if others were. That couldn't be truth. Edward wasn't like that. He was a warm and generous man. Why look at everything he'd done for Will over the past months!

He went into his room, a bit disappointed to find Kate was already asleep, stretched out on the bed with her hair fanning the pillow about her face. He sat on the bedside and watched her.

Her beauty was such that crept up on a man. She wasn't the sort of beauty that Jocelyn was, yet neither was she plain. It had taken awhile for him to notice that there was something striking about Kate's features. Whatever that something was, it kept his eyes returning again and again to her lovely face. He didn't know what he'd do if she left him.

Standing, Will prepared for bed and slid beneath the sheets beside Kate, drawing her to him and holding her as he drifted on a sea of thoughts.

When Jocelyn had left to marry Adhemar, it was Kate who took him in hand, forced him to bathe and shave and told him that he'd eventually get over Jocelyn. 'Jocelyn,' she'd said with a sad smile, 'isn't the only women you'll love in your life, Will. There'll be others some day. It might not seem like it now, but maybe in a few months or a year or two, you'll look around and there'll be a pretty girl waiting for you to see her standing beside you.'

It was only in the recent past that it had kicked into his mind that the pretty girl Kate had referred to was herself.

She'd not fallen for Wat, despite Wat's best efforts at arranging it. Oh no, Kate had fallen for Will and kept it inside until he'd come from the protective shell he'd built around himself in the aftermath of Jocelyn's journey from him. Kate had been there waiting, like she'd promised him a pretty girl would be and he couldn't fathom how lucky he was to have gained the love of two extraordinary women in his young life. First Jocelyn and then Kate, for there was no doubt in his mind that Kate measured up to Jocelyn easily.

He pressed a kiss to Kate's temple, contemplated waking her up and decided not to. With all the excitement of the men bothering her, she needed her rest.

Before Will could form another coherent thought, he too had succumbed to slumber.

* * *

Down the hall, Prince Edward remained awake after Will left, staring into the fire and contemplating the woman blacksmith that had captured his attention in recent weeks. When he first began a friendship with William Thatcher, he'd only noticed that there was a peasant woman in his entourage and not anything else about her. The day he'd had Will released from the stocks, he'd noticed she was younger than he'd realized at first.

Gradually, over the course of his acquaintance with Will, Edward had come to see Kate as something more than a peasant woman. She was an intelligent and determined woman who simply happened to be blessed with a pretty face and figure.

Edward liked intelligent and determined women. Beauty was enjoyed as well. If he had no care for any of those things, he'd not have turned his eyes to Joan, for his wife was all those things and more. She was his Venus, his....

Shaking his head, Edward sucked in a breath. He couldn't keep thoughts of Joan in his head recently. He loved her with all of his heart, yet there in his life was a temptation that was eclipsing his feelings for his wife. He'd begun to focus on Kate.

He leaned forward, hands loosely clasped together.

Temptation was like needles digging into his skin and pricking at him. He could not escape from the desire to have Kate. She was not his, but rather Will's and he shouldn't be looking at her with a lustful heart to begin with. Still....

There was no way around it: he _was_ looking at Kate and could see no other woman aside from her in his mind. He'd begun to dream of her as he'd once dreamed of Joan, something that disturbed him more than a little when he woke fully from those moments in slumber. Kate was dangled before his nose, there if he wanted her, ripe for the plucking.

A frown creased his brow and he stood, moving restlessly about the chamber.

He needed to exorcise the maid from his mind, purge the need for her from his body and there was only one way to do that: take her.

Joan was not here. What Joan didn't know would not hurt her, would it? For that matter, Will didn't have to know either. Kate would be persuaded to see reason on the matter he was certain and soon, she'd only be a pleasant memory he revisited in the darkest hours of the night.

Therefore, let the chase begin.

* * *

The early morning was Kate's favorite time of day anymore. She liked to sit at the window and watch the sun rise while sipping spiced wine. She'd sit in her shift, legs drawn up on her chair and drink in the peace of the hour. It was a welcome respite before her busy, and currently tense, days began.

Will was gone already, out the door before she'd fully roused to alertness and he'd taken Wat and Roland with him. At least she thought he had. Neither man had knocked upon the door as yet. If she knew them though, they'd be along soon.

Getting up from the chair, she slipped on her dress and took up the task of combing out the snarls in her hair. Each morning she had a horrible time combing it, but didn't want to deny Will the pleasure of her long hair loose in the night. He adored running his fingers through the length and, truth be told, she liked it when he did that. So, she suffered the tangles gladly.

There was a knock on the door, Kate surprised to find Prince Edward standing there alone. He didn't have his usual stream of men with him. "Will's left already," she informed him courteously.

His smile was warm enough to make maidens everywhere swoon in delight. "I know. I saw him go. It's you I wanted to see actually. May I?" He was through the doorway before she could deny him, long legs carrying him across the room to the window, where he rested his hands on the short ledge and leaned out.

Misgiving curled in Kate's belly, but she released her hold on the door panel. It swung partly closed. "What did you wish to see me about?"

"This and that." Another charming smile, tossed to her over his shoulder.

Kate set down her comb and crossed her arms, waiting for him to elaborate and wondering why there was no one with him. Usually he had five or six men within earshot. "Specifically, I mean?"

He turned, half sat on the sill and contemplated her with a cocked head and assessing gaze. "You're a good smith, Kate."

"Thank you."

"You work harder than most I've seen." He paused as though waiting for a reply.

Kate hurried to give him one. "Thank you."

"Your sense of duty and loyalty is a most admirable trait."

It seemed somehow inane to keep repeating the same words over and over, but Kate had no other response to his words of flattery. "Thank you."

"I greatly value the work you've undertaken for me." Now he stood tall, walking the few paces towards her with a slow tread. "I value _everything_ about you."

Alarm skittered across Kate's skin. A change had occurred in his expression, a subtle shift that caused her breath to hitch and her glance to turn as discreetly as possible to the cracked door. "My lord?"

One had reached out and caught the hand she had folded under her arm, his fingers brushing against the curve of her breast in a movement that instinct told her was not accidental. Reflexively, Kate stepped back, a gasp leaving her lips. Edward tugged her hand. Off balance, Kate stumbled towards him and was caught in his embrace. He molded her body to him, heaving what sounded like a sigh of satisfaction as his hands roamed her curves with a license she'd not given him.

"In a week," he began softly, his breath stirring the hair at her temple, "Will will be going on an errand for me, along with Wat and Roland. They'll be trusting my men to guard you and they will guard you. We'll have three days alone together, Kate."

She stayed as still as she could, considering the consequences of angering him. None were pleasant. By refusing him on this, she could open Will to backlash. Kate couldn't stop the word that came to her lips though. "No," she whispered.

He drew back, the obsessive desire displayed upon his features turning him into a complete stranger. "Don't play games, Kate. Coyness does not suit you." Her body was released, her head gripped, forced to turn up to him. "You'll be waiting within one hour of Will leaving. I expect smiles and laughter and all those things I love about you. Will doesn't have to know. No one does." And then he was releasing her, his manner slipped back into geniality, that ugly expression vanishing. "Good day, Kate."

As the door shut firmly behind him, Kate vowed that when he came looking for her, she would already be gone.

* * *

"Christiana?" Germaine's voice was hesitant from behind her.

Was there anywhere in this manor that she could find at least a moment of peace? Everywhere she went, someone called to her, more than a light annoyance when all she wanted was to be left alone in the grip of her emotions. "What do you want," she asked in the most ungracious tone she could spit out. His offer of friendship had turned into bitter betrayal in the end.

He took a step towards her. "To explain myself."

His expression held both hope and a plea, her sigh audible upon noticing that. Fine. Let him tie a rope about his neck and pull it tight. "Very well. Explain." She plopped into the nearest chair and gave him the most aloof gaze she could manage.

"I do what I'm told to do for two reasons. The first is my family. Annelle may not be the woman I would have initially chosen for myself, but my lord judged the progression of our relationship quite accurately --"

"He chose your wife for you?"

Germaine gave a slight nod. "In a round about fashion, yes, but please allow me to continue."

What arrogance! Adhemar was swimming in arrogance, rolling about in it as a pig in mud. Apparently he even had to arrange his servant's lives to suit him. She crossed her arms.

"I have grown to adore my wife. She is mine alone and yes, I'm aware she can be most difficult when she chooses. Yet, she can also be loving. Then, there are my children. Annelle and I have three children that I also adore. If I were to displease my lord, my family could feel the ripple of his ire. I can't allow that."

Christiana got up and went to the window, staring out, her shoulder against the wall. "What's the other reason?"

"I've nowhere else to go. This house, this family is all I know. Here, I'm aware of what's expected of me and of what punishment is for certain crimes." He crossed to her, touched her shoulder. "I'm not the enemy in this household, Christiana."

Whirling, she gave a mirthless laugh. "Pray tell, how not? You followed me about, listened to my fears and I suspect you ran off and told them all to him, one by one. You pretended to be a confidant when in reality you were a spy!"

"Look," he grabbed her arms, shook her, a flush darkening his fair skin. "I can take any concerns or fears you have, yet are hesitant to take to my lord and take them to him for you. I can be your go-between like you were for Lady Jocelyn. I don't wish you ill, Christiana. He asked what you and I spoke of and I told him."

"He asked, but did he order? You could have refused. You could have refused to follow me about." She paused, next words a whisper. "How much of what I told you reached his ears?"

"Of what you _told_ me, little. I didn't speak the things you told me." And still there was guilt upon his face. Perhaps he didn't speak them. However, he was feeling guilty over something.

Christiana jerked away and strode to the table where she'd left her sewing. With quick, efficient movements, she gathered the cloth and embroidery thread. Germaine wasn't going to admit telling Adhemar anything. "Leave me alone, Germaine. Follow me from afar if he insists you keep that task. Don't talk to me though. Don't come near me. I've no desire to converse with a two tongued creature."

Still, he didn't go.

Standing tall, she turned to stare at him. "What? You're still here."

The herald stared right back, curiosity tilting his brow. "What did he say to you? What did he say that causes such anger?"

"Why do you care?"

"I _do_ care. I care very much. Please tell me. Let me show you that I can help you; I do have some power to undo how I've offended you."

Christiana kept her stare cool. "He intimated that I am free with myself."

Disbelief tread across his features, wiping away those last vestiges of guilt. "You? Free with favors?" His glance traveled her twice, an amused laugh working from him.  
"You? The idea is...absurd. You're not the sort of woman to do so without much thought on the matter first."

"I'm not lying."

"No, I know. My lord does occasionally say the first thing that comes to mind, whether he should or not. Usually in situations where he knows he's in the wrong or he is not emotionally balanced." He stepped to the door.

It was Christiana's opinion that Count Damien Adhemar wasn't emotionally balanced to begin with. She wasn't going to argue with Germaine though.

Hope remained in his eyes. "By nightfall this day, you'll have proof that I can be an ally."

She wasn't going to hold her breath.

However, as dusk began to settle upon the earth, the rosy rays of the sun slipping lower and lower in the sky, Christiana found her yearned-for moment of solitude swept away by a presence at her back. She slipped her needle into the thread to catch it and glanced up.

Adhemar stood over her, his neck craned so that he could see her work. His hand reached over her shoulder, forearm resting upon her breast as one finger traced the vibrant greens of the vine she'd embroidered on the cloth. He bent, mouth close to her ear, breath warm. "Germaine says I have been insensitive to your needs and unreasonably cruel in my words. I should, for the good of this household, make peace with you by," his shudder was felt all along her shoulder, the last word a sneer, "_apologizing_."

She didn't try to mask her disbelief. "You called me a whore, my lord, in not words, but rather implication. If that is not insensitive and cruel, then what is?"

He snatched his hand back from the fabric, resting it upon her shoulder as he stood. "I didn't say you were a whore."

"You implied it." Christiana twisted, intending to turn around and face him. His free hand clamped heavily upon her other shoulder, keeping her anchored in the chair facing away from him. "You implied the both Jocelyn and I were free with ourselves, which is hardly the truth at all. The only man Jocelyn ever went to was Sir Will, though others, including yourself, tried to seduce her. You see, my lord, Jocelyn _did_ mind her virtue. You're simply still upset that she didn't see fit to toss it away with you."

His fingers tightened on her shoulders. Emboldened and feeling more than a slight bit reckless by the heady euphoria of spouting truth to him, she continued.

"And I, _I_," she pointed at herself, "do not bed any man I find pleasing to look at. I've been with one man and I thought I loved him at the time."

"Love," he scoffed, fingers kneading along her shoulders now, almost as though he was using the action to calm himself. "Love is an illusion that wraps up truth for silly little girls so they do not have to acknowledge that the man they desire is not perfect and saintly, but rather flawed and fully human."

"Love is _not_ an illusion. I've seen it and it's very real." She didn't move. Their conversation was actually quite genial. Warm with emotion, yes, but nothing incendiary.

"Referring to Jocelyn and Thatcher, I suppose. Their so-called love, Christiana, was infatuation magnified by a stubborn spirit rebelling against authority. However," His voice was once again by her ear, breath upon her cheek. "I'll allow for the possibility that sometimes illusion can be more real than reality."

He was gone before she could think of a reply.

* * *

He knew he'd been manipulated and, at that moment, Adhemar didn't give a damn about it. Germaine always had excellent reasons for pushing events how he wanted, so he assumed this time was no different. For some reason, Germaine thought it of great importance that he 'make nice' with Christiana.

At least he didn't have to tell Christiana that she wanted him. She already did. It was plain in her eyes and upon her face. The longing was there and perhaps he'd noticed that longing months earlier, when Jocelyn still lived. Perhaps, he allowed himself, he'd been fascinated by her even before she'd told him of her origins.

Pacing before the fire, he frowned. Yes, he'd been interested in Christiana when he'd still pursued Jocelyn during the tournaments. Her quiet, calm manner was refreshing then in the wake of the violence of emotion that had gripped him whenever he'd happened upon Thatcher. Christiana's gentleness had a calming effect upon him and yet now, at the same time, it inflamed him.

How contradictory and how, he reflected, completely _he_.

Laughter caught his attention and he caught a glimpse of Germaine and Annelle at the entrance to the back hallway. They were talking and obviously joking by their laughs. A small smile, no more than a slight upward quirk of his lips really, returned. He'd known from the second he'd met Annelle that she'd be perfect for Germaine and he'd been correct. They each excelled where the other was lacking.

His thoughts again turned to Christiana, as if she wasn't on his thoughts enough as it was. Would they one day enjoy such merriment together? Even in their times together recently there'd not been such complete joy and amusement.

Adhemar found he longed for such times, yet he didn't know how to bring them about.

Sad. Very sad.

Looking away, he suddenly felt the need to be...elsewhere.


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Five

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: The 'R' version of this chapter is up on my website. I think one scene flows better for the 'R' rating, but to keep it one rating here, that's a sacrifice I'll make. Check out my site if you want to read the other version.

* * *

She couldn't tell Will, Wat or Roland. It simply wasn't an option, not when they hadn't heard Edward's command for her to come to him. Crossing her arms, she chewed on her lower lip as she contemplated the barred door. Though it pained her to be inactive, she'd not bothered to go down to work today. The chance of running into Edward or one of those other men was too great and Kate was weary of fighting them all off. It seemed that she only had to turn around to be bumping into another man propositioning her.

Where had her sudden popularity come from? She wasn't a ravishing beauty and knew it. Was it only the reality of few women traveling with the army? She was one of the younger of the women and the harshness of life had yet to be apparent upon her face and figure. Could that be the reason they all panted after her of late?

She hated not working. It wasn't in her to be idle. A gasp exploded from her lips and she fought angrily against the rush of helplessness and fear that surged up inside her.

He had no right!

Kate was not a slave to be ordered about. Prince or no, he couldn't make her betray Will like that, and going to Edward _would_ be a betrayal. Kate was a one-man woman. Never had she been unfaithful to any man. Doing so wasn't her way. And now Edward ordered her to go against her nature.

Her legs began to carry her back and forth across the room.

Leaving was the only option she had. Staying would cause problems to escalate and telling Will and the others this latest would cause division among them. Irrational thoughts began circling in her mind, alarming things that brought her fears closer to the surface. What if they thought she was jealous? Or even that she lied?

There was a bang on the door, Kate swallowing a yelp as it was followed by two more and then the muffled sounds of Wat's cursing. Crossing to the door, she lifted off the heavy bar, stumbling backwards and falling to the floor when the panel flew open. Wat managed -- barely -- to stay on his feet.

Arms out for balance, he looked about with wide eyes. "What's happened? What's wrong?" At her silence, he came to her. "Kate?" Crouching down, he touched his fingertips gently to her cheek, then held them up. "You're crying."

Strange how she'd not realized that fact. Kate got to her feet, wiping her cheeks and sniffling. "I'm fine. Nothing's happened."

Wat gazed up at her, not moving from the position. "Which one of them needs pain and lots of it?"

With a sigh, Kate turned away. "None. Nothing happened, I told you."

"You don't bar the door for nothing." Emotion, strong and forceful, carried along the backs of his words. "Not you."

"I.... I fell asleep and had a nightmare. It lingered upon waking. That's all." Pretending her lie to be truth, she continued. "You came looking for me?"

Wat came around her, gave her a sidelong glance as he picked up her comb and turned it this way and that in his slender fingered hands. "You weren't working. I..._Will_ worried you were ill."

She took the comb from him. "And you? What did you think?"

He took a deep breath and plunged on. "I thought one of those guards in the hallway got ideas. I don't like being dismissed as your guard, Kate. I think Roland and I did well protecting you."

"So," she interrupted him. Her thoughts on the guards were much like his, only she knew the real reason Edward had sent Wat and Roland elsewhere. One of them would insist on being with her should Edward ever come wanting to see her privately. They'd claim it was for propriety's sake and right now, that would irritate the Prince. "You came to rescue me?"

Wat ducked his head, his skin taking on a reddish hue. "I care for you Kate," he said in a quiet voice that wrapped a gentle dignity about the words. "I have for awhile, but I've accepted you don't feel the same for me as I do you. I've accepted that you're Will's. Mine or Will's, I'll still die if need be to protect you."

Kate's breath caught in her throat and it was a long moment before she could respond. "I pray to God it doesn't come to that."

He glanced up, lips curving in that mischievous familiar grin. "Me too. I'm rather attached to living."

The light tension surrounding them broke as a giggle built up in Kate's chest. She loosed it gladly, wiping away the last of her tears and giving a smile in return. "Well then, I don't want any of you to worry. I'll come down with you."

He gave her his arm and they left the room.

* * *

The gown and surcoat Christiana finally settled on were both a rich burgundy shade and had been Jocelyn's, though her lady had never once had a chance to wear either. Christiana went through Jocelyn's clothing, reluctantly seeing the need in doing so. Her future husband didn't seem interested in having her clothed properly for the station she was entering, so taking clothes that had been Jocelyn's and refitting them for her own frame was the best choice.

She tried each piece on, keeping a close ear out for any footsteps down the hallway, not wanting to be caught half naked by Count Adhemar, even if she was marrying him tomorrow.

The surcoats, it turned out, were not a problem. She liked most of them and they could be tied loosely. It was the gowns that gave her trouble. Her bosom was slightly more generous than Jocelyn's had been, very few of the gowns fitting her correctly. Most were too tight and pulled uncomfortably. Some of the sleeves were also restricting and Christiana knew she'd quickly split the seams on some of them if she tried to wear them. Wouldn't that be lovely? Then she could hear caustic remarks from Adhemar on it.

No thank you, she decided, smoothing the burgundy surcoat with one hand. This dress had been commissioned when Jocelyn first realized she was pregnant, but she'd quickly surpassed the measurements in the bust and put it away for after the birth. Christiana didn't feel as strange about taking the outfit as she did with some of the others and she became engrossed in her task, forgetting to listen for sounds of approach.

All in all, she managed to find two gowns to fit and nine surcoats of various fabrics. Luck was with her, for the other gown that fit was in a cream shade that would go well with the surcoats. She had clothes in her own trunk that would mix decently and with the proper choices in caps, jewels and scarves, no one would be able to tell she'd been a maid. Then, after some time had passed, she'd approach Adhemar about clothes. He'd not balked on having clothes for Jocelyn made. Of course, Jocelyn had taken his offering as a gift and refused it.

Christiana remembered that meeting clearly.

She'd been straightening the master's chambers, trying to keep an eye on Jocelyn, who'd been complaining about pains in her lower back. Adhemar had come in and told Jocelyn that he'd brought a woman in to measure her for clothes. Jocelyn had eased up into a sitting position, shoving pillows behind her back and asked him why he'd bothered doing so. Was she a disappointment for him in her dress? Too bad. There was no way she'd let him buy her clothes.

His lips had tightened and eyes narrowed, yet he'd only inclined his head before leaving.

She could imagine how he must have felt to find out that Jocelyn had then bartered some of the household goods she'd brought with her to pay for clothes. A slap in the face and intended as such. Christiana couldn't fault Jocelyn for being upset to begin with, but it had been carried way too far, until each day became a battle of wills between the two. It amazed her that Adhemar had kept a reign on his legendary temper.

The surcoat was untied and slipped off, Christiana stretching her arms above her head and turning first to one side and then the other, trying to ease away the tension that was gathering in her neck and shoulders.

She was startled by a voice behind her.

* * *

How long did he stand there watching her, silent as she slipped on clothes and pulled them off? The sight was hypnotic, slender limbs moving in fluid motion. Adhemar crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb, pleased he'd managed to come upon her silently. He had the feeling she was going to be cautious in what she let him see over the next few weeks, even months, so this glimpse was an unexpected treat. He was able to look his fill and wonder how she'd react upon seeing him when he did make his presence known.

He craved more fire from her and would take every opportunity to bring that about.

"The color suits you," he remarked, smiling a little when she whirled with a gasp and quickly crossed her arms. The neckline of the gown was a bit lower than she usually wore, nothing sensational or inappropriate really, simply something she was unused to. Of course, if he had his way, necklines would be far lower as a fashion. Unfortunately, no one asked him what he thought on the matter.

Clothes were strewn about every surface of the room. Immediately, Christiana began straightening, her voice hesitant. "You said I could look through Jocelyn's clothing."

"I remember. I trust you found some of them acceptable?" The color really did suit her, complementing her coloring better than the blue she usually wore.

In the act of placing several gowns in the trunk, she glanced at him. "Yes. Some fit me or need little alteration."

Standing tall, he strode to her and crouched down. "Do you want new clothes, Christiana?" She looked startled and inclined to lie, though the desire was there in her eyes, that hint of longing at the very mention. "You may commission up to four dresses, one for each season to complement what you have currently and...." He pretended to consider the matter, although he'd already decided what she needed. The expense of such a wardrobe didn't phase him in the slightest. He'd known he'd have to pay for proper clothing for her eventually, so why not begin with the best? "Shall we say eight surcoats, plus shoes and a few caps?"

Her lips parted, eyes going wide. "I...I don't know what to say."

"A reply to the question perhaps? Do you want them?"

The lid of the trunk was lowered, her teeth dragging along her lower lip. "Yes." A frown creased her brow and he thought she was going to say something more. She didn't, standing instead and moving to gather the clothes she'd left out.

Adhemar followed her, standing deliberately too close beside her, enjoying how flustered the contact was making her. Every time she shifted away, he followed, playing the game. A flush darkened her cheek and when her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, he wanted to take her chin, turn her and kiss her soundly. He didn't however. There'd be plenty of time to kiss her later. "Leave them," he said, indicating the clothes.

When she shook her head, his own lips parted. Was that defiance? Just a smidgen, but definitely, intriguingly there.

He plopped down onto the clothes she was trying to gather up, impeding her progress. "Leave them."

Christiana tugged on one green surcoat that was firmly under his hip. "No." A quick glance at him, then back to the fabric, her hands grasping and heaving.

She nearly managed to pull the cloth away and he leaned further onto it. "Why not?"

"I don't want to." She paused, then added, "My lord." Planting her feet firmly, her lips set in a thin line, Christiana gave one last hearty tug. The surcoat slipped free and she stumbled back, surprise on her lovely features before she fell, head hitting the chair back. A curse escaped her, a mild one, but one nonetheless.

Adhemar got to his feet and moved to her, kneeling beside her, examining the spot carefully. In all honesty, he'd not expected her to be able to budge the surcoat. "Where," he enquired softly, "did you learn that language?" Jerking the cloth free from the table, heedless of the objects that tipped and crashed to the floor, he used the linen to wipe the tears from her face.

"Jocelyn's brothers. They never cared who was about." Wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks, she began to edge away from him. "It's your fault."

Hooking a hand about her arm, he kept her there. The cloth slipped to the floor. "My fault?"

"If you hadn't sat on them, I wouldn't have pulled."

"Oh. If you'd not refused to leave them, I wouldn't have sat on them. Now whose fault is it?"

"I hate you," she murmured, wincing and gingerly touching the spot on the back of her head.

Adhemar chuckled. "I highly doubt that. I think it's the pain talking." He released her arm, hand moving up to the area she still touched. He threaded his fingers through hers and thought how _charmingly vulnerable_ she was at that moment.

Right then, she was more attractive than Jocelyn had ever been at any moment in their acquaintance.

* * *

What had gotten into her recently? What had possessed her to be defiant? Christiana had no answer for an action that had led her to be injured. Granted, it wasn't a bad injury, only a bump on the head that would not stop hurting, but still. And what was he doing, sitting beside her as though he had every intention of staying there all day? His hand clasped hers in a firm grip, keeping her arm raised in an awkward position by her ear. She turned her head slightly, the scent of his specially made soap drifting to her. It was a woodsy scent, reminding her of dark, isolated clearings and fresh rain.

"Let go," she whispered, lips remaining parted after the words.

Adhemar leaned closer, head tilting a fraction to his left. In his eyes was a query, one he left unspoken.

Christiana gave her head a sharp turn to the right, hoping to deter him, but his left hand lifted, caressing her jaw and urging her to look back at him. She did, despite her best judgment.

His tongue snaked out to wet his lips and a pleasant tension coiled in her belly, bringing with it a flickering heat. So close were their faces that she could see his pulse tapping in the column of his throat, not slow and calm as she'd expected, but rather a wild racing, though his chest rose and fell evenly. Somehow, that indicator he was not as calm as he appeared reassured her.

"Why should I?" His question was as soft as her plea had been, a roughness underlying the words that sent pleasure skittering over her skin.

In her mind, the fantasy man she'd created in his image woke and smiled.

Christiana blinked, lips beginning to tremble for a wanting of either physical contact or release from his hold. They were paused in a delicious moment in time, the sounds of the household around them slightly muffled to her ears.

"B-because I ask it?" The statement came out a question, certainly not as she intended. She'd wanted to say it with a force that would have made Jocelyn proud of her, yet all she could muster was that weak tone.

Adhemar leaned a fraction closer, his breath now upon her skin. The wait for whatever his action would be was sweet torture. In her mind, she pictured the next step and so forth, until she could take it no more. He was deliberately taking his time, a contradiction of both the day in the valley and the day before in that very chamber.

Kiss him or pull away, her mind yelled out, but don't just sit there waiting! Take action!

"I won't let you go," he said in a voice loud and arrogant.

Waiting was no longer an option.

His lips were upon hers and Christiana didn't flinch back. She met him this time, her left hand working it's way to his back and resting there. She half held him to her, caught in the whirling of desire. There was not a sane thought left in her mind.

One kiss slid into two, then three, each one adding to the passion, becoming more frantic with needs formerly suppressed. Christiana's hands found their way up into his thick hair. All these months of wanting him, of dreaming about him, shoved aside any lingering seconds of caution. Christiana didn't think she had it in her to refuse now. Her dream man merged slowly with the real man and she shook her head, fighting the crossing over of her worlds even as she let repressed passion guide her responses.

Long moments later, Adhemar slipped from the bed and to the washbasin in one corner. Quickly, he washed and dressed, not casting a single glance in her direction.

Christiana rolled onto her side, watching him. The pillow her head laid on carried his scent and she breathed deeply, smoothing her hand over the soft sheet he'd tossed over her. She was a wife a day early, the deed done a full day before the ceremony was scheduled. A sigh left her. Emotionally, she felt like she'd been whacked with a lance three or four times. She thought she should be more upset about this than she was. Truthfully, she was almost relieved to have this first time together finished.

Coming to the bedside, he crouched down. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes and bled outward onto his face and the lean, strong line of his body. One hand tangled in her hair, his lips turned up in the slightest of smirks. "So, Christiana, does the living man pale to those workings of your fertile imagination you scratched down onto paper?"

She jerked away, wincing when her hair caught in his ring. How like him to spoil loveliness with an inappropriate comment. It was more than tempting to give him the answer he didn't expect. Instead, she settled on no answer at all, the realization that he knew what was in her journal zinging through her. She jerked the sheet around her with agitated sniffs of displeasure, becoming genuinely speechless in her irritation with him.

His smirk widened into a grin, his laugh stretching her nerves taut. "I told you we get along."

When he was gone, Christiana turned her face into one pillow and screamed into it. Was nothing private in this house? "Lord, give me patience," she murmured, "or I may be tempted to slit his throat one of these days." Getting up from the bed, she washed and dressed, then gathered the clothes she could salvage and sought out a quiet corner to begin alterations.

* * *

She didn't come down to the hall to eat. By that, he concluded she was still vexed with him. She'd taken quite an exception to his mention of her imagination. It didn't occur to him until _after_ the meal that she hadn't known he knew about her inner longings.

Rather than send Germaine to find her, he set out looking for her himself. Perhaps he should make certain she'd not found some way to flee into the night without being detected by the guards. After searching all about the house and grounds, he found her sitting on the defensive wall. She didn't move away when he joined her. That was encouraging. At least she wasn't hurrying away from him.

"You've read my journal then?" Christiana stared at the courtyard below them. The light from the torches didn't quite give enough illumination to see her expression clearly, but by the sound of her voice, he rather thought it was one of those exasperated frowns.

Should he lie and deny it? No. There was no need. She had to have suspected by now. "Yes." Another man might feel some shame at having first commanded a servant to read her thoughts and report them to him and then reading them himself. He didn't. He'd needed to have the upper hand with her; to know just how to move with her.

"All of it?"

"Every word, save a few I could not make out. Your handwriting is illegible at times."

"You don't even try and deny it?" Incredulity dripped from the words.

"Why should I?" He shrugged.

"If I speak frankly, will I be punished for it?"

"No."

"I want a promise, for I know you keep _those_."

He cocked a brow at the slur in her words. "Fine. I promise you'll not be punished for speaking your mind. Go to it then."

Christiana shifted her position so that she was facing him. Shadows danced across her face with each sway of the torch flames under the breeze. "You had no right to read my thoughts."

"Germaine read them first."

A noise of protest from her lips and then she was standing. "I don't believe you, my lord. You've such absolute arrogance that you cannot even see your action was wrong. You rationalize it to be acceptable by first placing blame on Germaine when he had to be doing your orders to begin with. Those were my private thoughts. I don't read _your_ journal."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "With good reason," he drawled. "I don't write one. Silly women's habit in my opinion."

"My point is, that it should have been kept private. You know everything you read about me and I don't --"

She broke off abruptly, Adhemar glancing up at her. "You don't what? Finish your sentence girl. It's annoying when you don't complete it."

Christiana's legs seemed to give out beneath her and she settled on the walkway with a thump. "I don't know about _you_," she finished in a whisper so low that he had to strain to hear it.

A laugh escaped him. "What's to know, Christiana? I'm a man like any other. I was born, I live and someday I'll die."

"But who are you?"

"Not the man you dream of. That's a man I don't even recognize and one I could never be."

Her laugh was low and throaty and tinged with bitterness. "Do you think I don't know that? A fantasy is only a fantasy, a wondering of what might be and is never intended to be thought as real. I erred in getting caught up in my imaginings, but you should not have pried into my private thoughts behind my back. If you wish to know my thoughts, then ask me, my lord. Simply ask for them, but please, _please_, leave me the one privacy."

An impassioned plea and obviously a thing she cared greatly for. Ever mindful of her maid's true station, Jocelyn had indulged Christiana in the luxury of privacy, something Adhemar had never really had himself. There is little privacy available in a manor house filled to bursting with family and servants. Jocelyn had given Christiana the expensive gift of bound pages to write on and encouraged her written efforts. To keep writing knowing there was continued privacy would be a joyous thing to Christiana.

If ever he desired to give her a gift that would engender her undying thanks, then this was it. Waters could be smoothed between them with the simple gesture. It seemed strange to him that their afternoon together was not the thing that inspired outrage from her.

"You wouldn't share them if I did," he said, conscious of a petulance that crept into his words. The tone made him frown.

Christiana swung her legs over the edge of the walkway, skirts swishing with the movement. "You've never bothered asking, so how could you know if that is truth?"

Joining her, he grunted in acknowledgement of his inaction on that count. "I assumed, Christiana that you'd not be willing to share your secrets with me."

After a moment, her shoulder bumped against his, an almost playful gesture. "Thoughts and secrets are not always one and the same, my lord. I have no secrets."

"Oh really?" He turned his gaze up to the sky, contemplated the twinkling of the stars in the dark heavens. She had more secrets than she herself was even aware of. Everything about her was a secret from him, those age-old differences that made women alien from men and vice-versa. "Tell me why you left that man you thought you loved."

She was silent so long that he was tempted to make his request an order, when her voice came, hesitant and soft. "It wasn't I left him. He told me he'd found another woman who wasn't caught up in noblewoman's doings, one who could be there with him day by day. I'd just told them about...." Christiana trailed off, took in a sharp breath and continued. "I'd told them that Jocelyn was marrying you and when I said to him that I'd stay and we two could be happy...."

There came a choking cry and suddenly, Adhemar was transported back to the day Jocelyn had died and Christiana's anguished sobs had mingled with the cries of the baby. She was about to cry such a way now, he could hear it in the catching of her words, sense it in the shaking of her body beside his. His lips formed a curse word that he didn't give voice to. He'd no desire to hear more of her sobbing wails.

"He trod on my heart and then cut it to pieces."

In the dark, her hand covered his and it occurred to him that she was reaching out to him for some sort of comfort, some reassurance. The thought made him uncomfortable, yet he didn't move from her, not even when she succeeded in slipping her fingers about so that he was grasping her hand loosely.

"All I had left were my imaginings. They were a place where I could forget him and how much those words hurt me. I knew the image I created was not you and I never meant it to be you, not really, but rather an ideal of perfection that I so desperately wanted and had not found." She jerked her hand away, sniffling. "And now I've been too forward. I've told everything about me and still know naught of you. I should go."

Reaching out, he caught her hand before she could rise. "Stay." The torchlight which had kept him from clearly seeing her expression also kept his own confusion masked from her. She couldn't see that he didn't understand his own urge to keep her there right then. She couldn't know that her emotion had wrung an answering feeling from him, one he couldn't honestly identify. Adhemar gently directed her back beside him, releasing her hand in order to slip his arm about her slender shoulders in an anchoring weight.

"My lord --"

"There are so many stars in the sky, Christiana. Stay. Look at them with me. There's no need to go in so soon."

He expected an answer, some refusal from her lips. There was none. Gradually, she relaxed against him, the sobs she'd tried to stifle bursting forth, then fading away as they were purged from her.

And when that happened....

She also stared at the stars, a companionable silence between them.


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Six

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: This chapter has a depiction of a tragedy common to the time period: a fire breaks out. Just a warning for those sensitive in nature who may be reading.

* * *

Their wedding was quick, a pale affair compared to the fanfare in which he'd married Jocelyn. The manor chapel was filled, each bench holding eight people comfortably. A few trusted servants sat directly to the right of the family benches, namely Germaine's family and the old woman who'd cared for Adhemar when he was a child. Family present were several of his cousins, one brother and his grandfather. His mother had chosen to remain in Aquitaine, writing her opinion that not only was Christiana wholly unsuitable if she didn't produce an heir within a year, she was unsuitable up until the time an heir was produced, period.

He'd chuckled at that, his expression one of fondness as Germaine had finished reading the missive aloud. Adhemar's mother -- Marian -- had hied herself from the manor as soon as decently possible after he'd wed Jocelyn, making pious comments about women bearing other men's children. Her parting words had been for him to have the babe strangled upon it's birth.

Lovely woman, she.

Christiana was glad Marian had chosen to visit her other children. She didn't think she could make this change with the woman present.

She swayed a little, hands caught in the loose, steadying grip of his, her attention upon the collar of his coat. For this occasion, he'd opted out of his usual black, wearing instead a deep green that had embroidery along the collar. Absent-mindedly, she scrutinized the stitches of the design, hardly paying attention to the ceremony. Really, she decided. She could do much better than whoever had stitched that design. There was a crudeness to it that belied the beautiful tailoring of the rest of the jacket. The first chance she got, she was going to rip it all out and re-do it for him.

The commotion that had been growing outside the chapel doors grew louder, drawing her attention from the embroidery momentarily. What could be happening? A million reasons for the noises scuttled through her mind, slipping away as she heard Adhemar's voice, loud and sure, repeating the vows. Raising her chin a notch, she waited for the kiss that would seal them together, transferring her gaze to his face and suppressing an entirely inappropriate giggle. Impatience was etched most firmly on those handsome features. His mouth came down upon hers, a firm caress --

The chapel door banged open, a voice ringing out. "My lord! The village is burning!"

It was a good thing, she decided, that she didn't believe in omens. The past week could be considered rife with them.

Adhemar's reaction was instantaneous. He left her there, long legs taking him quickly down the aisle and out the doors. Christiana had a glimpse of him on the stairs before the tide of guests and servants obstructed her view. In minutes, she was alone with the elderly priest.

Watery blue eyes looked at her, a spark of kindness in their depths. "Welcome to the Adhemar family, my lady."

Christiana turned away and walked back to the manor.

* * *

The fire raged hot, razing anything in it's path, the sickening smell of burning flesh upon the air, mingling with the screams of those trapped in the flames. Adhemar choked from it, swallowed hard to keep from emptying the contents of his stomach as others had been doing. He'd not show such weakness here if he could help it. These were his people, looking to him. There'd be no disgrace if he had any say in it.

The line of people from both the well and the river were barely keeping the fire from spreading out of control and he continued to cast an eye towards the manor, constantly checking that the flames had not begun to spread that way. If the wind shifted however....

A manic energy filled him, his efforts inexhaustible. Smoke whipped about his face, the heat of the fire upon his body. As hours passed, his eyes burned from constant exposure to the smoke, sweat pouring from his skin. His arms ached, his back protested, yet still he tossed bucket after bucket onto the inferno.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Christiana moving among those who'd been rescued from the flames, Annelle with her. Annelle seemed agitated....

He renewed his efforts, emptying his mind of everything but his task. It took long, exhausting hours to douse the flames and when there was only acrid smoke in the air, he took a moment to sit down, turning to look at the last place he'd seen Christiana.

His fatigue became obvious to himself when he could not understand why Christiana and Annelle were hunched over one of the bodies. Then the wailing he heard took on a familiar cast and Adhemar hurriedly glanced about for Germaine. He saw the man sitting not far from the women, his soot stained face reflecting the emotions he felt. It was Germaine's voice he heard, raised to the heavens in anguished cries. Getting up slowly, wincing at the pull of tight muscles, he limped to the women and looked down at the body.

Germaine and Annelle's daughter lay dead upon the dirt, her eyes closed, skin sooty. This was a child he had known, a child who had trusted him and lifted her arms to him in invitation to pick her up. Little Lucy, adored by her parents and those who had come to know her. His lips parted, tears coming to his eyes. It had been awhile since a child he knew fairly well had died.

Christiana looked up at him. She had her arms around Annelle and seemed to be the only thing holding the silently crying Annelle upright. Her lips parted, no words issuing forth. He nodded and strode to Germaine, sitting beside him.

The helpless expression in his herald's eyes tugged at him and he wished there were some words he could say over the loss of a dearly loved child. He had none though, so remained silent, supporting Germaine when the tears came and the anguish ripped forth once more, the sort of sound that causes almost physical pain to those who hear it. He sat there and he comforted as twilight descended upon the earth.

* * *

Christiana sat on the bedside and watched her husband.

The bathwater was rapidly cooling from delightfully hot to only tepid. Still, Adhemar sat hunched over, staring at.... What? What did he stare at? The rim of the tub? Or was he half asleep, the utter weariness of extreme physical exertion exacting it's toll upon him?

Stepping to the tub, Christiana shoved aside the smoke scented clothes he'd dropped and knelt. An unpleasant smoky odor drifted up from the pile and she shoved them further away, not willing to remember the smell of the burning village. She didn't think she'd ever be able to forget it, or the screams of the dying. Four homes had succumbed to the flames and the cobbler's shop as well. Nine adults and three children had died from the flames, the smoke and of accidents during the course of stopping the fire.

She had done her duty as his wife, walking among the people, giving comfort where she could and aid as it was needed of her. Just an hour earlier, she'd put Annelle to bed, having snuck a sleeping drought into her wine. Germaine had come in and sat beside his wife as she'd drifted into a troubled sleep, the despair on his face still haunting Christiana's mind. Children died every day, but it was different when one knew the child. Lucy had been a sweet girl, always smiling and happy.

Her concerned gaze lifted to her husband of only a few hours. Stubble was heavy upon his cheeks and jaw and soot blackened his skin.

Christiana picked up the soap, dipped it in the water and rubbed it on her hands, working up a bit of lather. She put her hands on his arm, curled them about the bicep and down his forearm. Soap suds turned dirty gray dripped down the side of the tub.

He shifted in the water, obligingly allowing her to move his arm into the water to rinse it. No sound came from him. He'd not spoken since sliding into the water's soothing caress and Christiana was beginning to worry.

Behind her, the door opened, several servants bringing in more firewood and trays with food and drink. None of them seemed concerned with his silence or his stillness. She was though. She'd never seen him this way and it was a far cry from his usual manner. Servants went in and out of the room at varying degrees of time until one by one, they said 'goodnight'. Still, he sat in the now cold water.

Suddenly, he gasped, turning his head to stare at her. His hand, wet from the water, raised and slid along her neck, squeezed lightly along her shoulder, then moved up to rub along her jaw. Water trickled off of his skin onto hers, wetting her clothes. His gaze was mild, yet measuring. After what felt an eternity, he nodded once and gave a harsh bark of mirthless laughter followed by a shrug of his brows.

"In the space of less than one day, you've behaved more like a wife than Jocelyn did in nearly seven months." He plucked the cloth from her hand. "And you do so even while still a bit angry with me over your journal." With a sigh, he sat back, weariness heavy upon handsome features, aging him. "It's late, Christiana. Go to bed."

She nodded, gaze lowering from his. "Will you...." Cutting herself off, she stood only to hear his voice quiet and low.

"Will I what?" Polite.

"Will you be...joining me soon?"

Resting his head back he sighed. "Soon."

With that, she fled across the chamber.

* * *

Within a week, Christiana found herself called to her husband's side mid-morning. Germaine was there, taking the correspondence. He gave her a nod when she entered and returned to his task. Adhemar beckoned her to him and half sat against the table.

"We're taking Jocelyn's things and the child to Thatcher. I meant to do it before now, but became distracted. A wagon will be brought around. Anything of hers that you feel won't benefit this household, you may pack, be it clothes or other items. I suggest you pack for the both of us as well. We'll leave the items and child with him and continue on to my home in Anjou. The rest of the year will be spent there. I've learned my brother has let the steward cheat him, so I must take charge. Tomorrow morning, we'll set out, unless you can have us ready sooner."

She set herself to the task and by mid-afternoon, the party was ready. The wagon, in the end, only held a small portion of Jocelyn's belongings. Christiana let Millicent carry Christopher with her. She learned that the bulk of what they were to bring would follow them, as their bed would be dismantled and carried to the Anjou house and any items Adhemar felt he couldn't do without were also coming.

The actual party was large, but the one starting out that day was small, only Adhemar, Christiana, Germaine, Millicent and several guards. They'd travel swiftly and meet up with the other portion of their group at a prearranged destination.

She didn't ask how Adhemar knew where Will was, or if he only had an idea. She just did as she was asked. Her reward was a warm kiss in the relative privacy of the stable before he helped her onto her mount.

Their journey began.

* * *

The camp was mobilized, great huge warhorses setting out with men upon them and wagons being pulled in their wake. Kate walked behind Will's wagon, ever conscious of the two soldiers a few paces behind her. Roland was driving the wagon and Wat reluctantly rode up with Will by Prince Edward. Edward had ordered it so. They were to travel for a few days, stop to finalize battle plans and then move into position.

The day she'd been ordered to go to Edward was drawing near and still Kate had not found a way to slip from her guards and friends to escape. Each hour that passed brought her closer to full out panic. Her heart would not cease it's out of control racing and every little sound behind her was a harsh scraping along taut nerves.

Will had told her that when they stopped, he'd continue on with Roland and Wat to meet the messenger further up the road. He'd only be gone a short while.

Or so he thought. Kate had no doubt that Edward had arranged for Will to be detained. Her desperation was reaching a fever pitch. She'd even gone so far as to approach a couple people about writing a letter for her. That had gone well until she'd told who the letter was to. Apparently, no one thought Princess Joan would accept a letter from a peasant.

Kate had no intention of having the letter be from _her_. She planned to use Jocelyn's name. The lady would not mind. Too bad Geoff wasn't here. He'd be all for it. Unfortunately, Geoff wasn't here and Kate had no one willing to write a letter to Joan for her. Joan would not hear of Edward's behavior. Somehow, after seeing the Prince and his wife together at the final joust, she didn't think Joan would be too happy with her husband's behavior towards another woman.

Of course, she didn't _know_ that. It was possible that Joan couldn't care less.

The wagon stopped, Kate moving forward to the side of the wagon and pulling herself up to sit beside Roland. He gave her a glance. "You realize where we are?"

"No," Kate said, shaking her head and adjusting the cloth she'd wrapped about her hair to protect it from the dust of the road.

Roland jerked a thumb towards their left. "That way is Adhemar's favorite residence. Some of the men used to work for him in the Free Companies. They say the house here, not the one in Anjou, is his favorite and the one he grew up in. Jocelyn's there."

He didn't voice the question Kate knew was there on the tip of his tongue. "You're wondering about Christiana." Roland gave her a sharp glance, one she met with a genial shrug. "What? You think I don't know why you lied to her?"

Roland turned quickly away, craning his neck and looking at the road before them. "What's taking so long? Let's move, shall we?"

"It's been months, Roland. You should move on. Stop dwelling on it. You spoke in a moment of emotion, absolutely certain she'd be unhappy apart from Jocelyn, even if she was with you --"

"Your counsel is not needed, Kate. And I'm not dwelling. I simply...we're here now, so I naturally wondered...." He shifted restlessly on the seat.

"Naturally."

Their conversation was diverted by the sight of Will and Wat coming towards them. They were both walking, carrying on quite a lively conversation themselves. Wat's face was stony, anger dancing there and Will also seemed upset. Both men forced bright smiles at her though and firmly declared nothing was amiss.

Will stretched up his hands to Kate. She took it, let him lift her down. "Well? Why are we stopped?"

A shadow briefly slipped across Will's features. "We're making camp."

"So soon? I thought we were supposed to travel for a few days."

Wat snorted. "Not _you_. Only _us_. We've a three day ride to meet the messenger." His tone clearly added that he doubted the messenger would be at the appointed rendezvous. He busied himself at the back of the wagon.

Roland jumped down, his stare sharp upon Will. His brows raised. "Will?"

Drawing her to him, Will enfolded Kate into an embrace, turning her head on his chest so she couldn't see Roland. It crossed her mind that he didn't want her to see his face or Roland's right then. "I don't dare argue, Roland. He says go, so we go. We've an hour, maybe two before we need to set out."

Kate heard Roland begin to speak, then stop. He crossed behind Will, joining Wat at the back of the wagon, where the two spoke in hushed and urgent whispers. Will released Kate from the embrace, drew her back with gentle hands on her arms. The emotion in his eyes betrayed him. He thought he'd never see her again and that glimpse into him frightened her more than Edward's order. Will had knowledge she wasn't privy too. He knew something she didn't.

He licked his lips as though gathering his courage. "If we are separated for some unknown reason, I will try to find you, Kate. War is harsh. Things happen. I know that."

"Will, what...?" His kiss cut her off. Again, the feeling washed over her that he expected never to see her again.

"I do love you, you know that? It's not the same sort of love I knew before, but it's just as powerful and perhaps even more real." He hugged her again, slipping his hands under her cloak. Anyone watching would think he was running his hands along her hips and rear and he was, but not in caress. A heavy weight suddenly pulled along the side of her apron, the soft clink of coins reaching her ears.

Kate pressed her hand to the spot, feeling the soft fabric of a purse tied to her waist. He'd attached it to the tie of the old apron she wore over her dress. By the weight in her palm, it was a goodly sum too. "Will, I..." Again, he cut her off, fingers sliding over her lips.

"Sometimes we have to take the path we'd rather not take to get to the path we want to be on. We end up taking that road less traveled." His gaze bore into hers for a long moment, his brows raising in question.

Understanding clicked in her mind. He wanted her to go, to be away from the army. For whatever reason, Will was urging her to leave. Did he know about Edward's order? Or was there some other reason? "I know."

Relief cleared a bit of the tension from him. "I hoped you would. You know, sometimes I wonder how _Jocelyn_ is."

Kate found herself flanked by Roland and Wat now, the two echoing Will's words, saying that they too wondered on the woman. Her mind whirled. If she was reading into those words correctly, the three were telling her to go to _Adhemar's_, where Jocelyn was. Jocelyn wouldn't turn her away, Kate knew that, and she was also aware of how little love Adhemar had for Prince Edward. Adhemar would protect her -- if only out of sheer malice towards Edward.

That direction it was.

Her friends set out not too long after their chat and Kate made a show of having their small tent raised and belongings brought in. She made it appear as though she was making herself comfortable. When she was alone, she packed only what she could carry easily, secured the purse to her and bided her time. There was a slight moment when her guards would be welcoming the evening guards on duty. They'd be distracted, hopefully enough to give her time to leave.

As night approached, Kate found her moment and slipped away.

She was unaware of the young page also assigned to watch her. He noted the path she took and hurried to his lord.


	7. Chapter Seven

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Seven

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: Trying to work in a bit more history here. Also, while violence is mild in this chapter, I feel it wise to include a **WARNING**: the intention of rape alluded to.

* * *

Leaving Kate behind left a gaping, empty hole within him. Darkness and pain filled it and Will decided that sensation was worse than when Jocelyn had left. His love for Jocelyn had been a rehearsal of the real thing, he knew that now. He'd assumed that fiery passion was true love and found himself wrong on that count. Real love was strong and sure and it was selfless, not selfish. Both he and Jocelyn had been selfish.

Kate though. She was not selfish. She had her moments like them all, yes, but for the most part, she gave everything she had to their relationship. Once, she'd told him that love was compromise, one partner always compromising for the good of the relationship. There was no room for an overblown ego.

He believed her. Kate had weathered the death of a beloved husband only months before he'd met her and Will had coaxed bits of that story from her. Her husband had been older than her, a man her family knew and liked. He'd waited patiently for Kate to grow up and romanced her sweetly when her other choices pushed their suit. Kate had decided to love him. She stressed that to Will. Kate had made the choice to love and love she did.

A strong will was something he'd noticed in Kate from the first. She'd had to be strong in order to survive.

But now they were parted. For good? Dear God, he hoped not. How could he bear the thought of losing her after he'd lost Jocelyn? This parting was necessary however, due to outside forces intent upon harming Kate. He wasn't certain exactly who was behind the spate of attacks upon her recently. It could be one of several men, or even several combining their forces. To what purpose? That was what puzzled him.

Well, that wasn't quite the truth. Will had a sneaking and utterly horrible suspicion who was behind the escalation of events: Edward. Granted, he knew that men feared Edward's temper and many would rather leave a maid alone than risk angering Edward. Still, the decrease in frequency of those comments and actions against Kate nearly as soon as Edward had assigned men to guard her was suspect. Will hated to think that Edward was so desperate to drive Kate to him that he'd risk a hurt to her person.

He slowed his mount, then stopped it, considering the man.

Will had thought Edward and Joan were deliriously happy. They'd certainly seemed as such in London. Looks could be deceiving. Perhaps they weren't happy and it had all been a show.

No, he thought, giving his head a tiny shake. That couldn't be it. Edward really did love Joan. Was Will wrong then in his conclusions?

A low, frustrated groan left him. Being entirely wrong didn't feel right either. Somewhere in the middle perhaps? Maybe Edward was not behind it, yet was very attracted to Kate despite his love for Joan. That had to be it. He found Kate aesthetically pleasing, though he'd not do one thing about that attraction. He'd protect her if he could and that was all it was. He sought to keep her from hurt by others who were working independently of him. Innocent protection.

Innocent? Will snorted. Edward was not innocent. He knew it. He'd seen enough in the past couple weeks to realize that the Prince was very sick and not simply that blood infection the physician treated him for daily. There was something off-kilter in his mind and it was getting worse. In battle he was like a fierce warrior of old, gentleness leaving him and in it's place was a cold, calculating tactician who'd not stop the slaughter of men until the battle was unquestionably won.

Will knew that to win a war, lives had to be lost on either side. Still, he was growing more sickened by the losses as the weeks went by. Something had to be done for the future of all.

"We can't turn back so quickly, Will. He'll know we suspect something if we do because you've never defied his orders once."

Will looked up and found Roland and Wat stopped in the road in front of him. "I know, Roland. Should we have sent her to Adhemar though? Would not Geoff's family have been a better choice?"

Roland shook his head. "I've no love for Adhemar, Will. But he's no liking for Edward, that's obvious. It was apparent after the joust that he hates the Prince with more passion than he hated you. If he could spite the Prince, he would and do so cheerfully. Jocelyn will step in and make sure Kate is allowed to stay with them. She'll be safe until we can get there to her, however long that takes."

Wat rode closer. "What if he's put a guard upon us? You know as well as I do that that's the norm lately. Guards watching the guards, mercenaries cutting each other's throats to be in his favor. There could be men behind us right now, watching and listening."

"Besides," Roland also rode closer. "Adhemar's home is closer than Chaucer's. Geoff and Philippa are in London, remember?"

"I know." The hope was leeching from him. Will could feel it sliding away and had no idea how to stop it. He let his head drop so that his chin was on his chest. "He's going mad, you know."

Roland's voice came, calm and rational. "I know. And if we do this right, so will Princess Joan and the Duke. His family will know, Will, and hopefully, they'll step in."

"We'll still be too late to stop what's coming, Roland." He couldn't help the despair that colored his voice.

"Yes," Wat agreed, "but maybe we can stop more from occurring. We can't help the people of Limoges, you're right about that. We _can_ make a difference in future events however, but we have to keep going now."

Will straightened tall on his mount and took in a deep breath, attempting to cleanse his worries from him. "Remind me never to attempt an intrigue ever again, even for the good of a country."

Roland and Wat said nothing and the three travelers continued onward.

* * *

Christiana was carrying the baby now, the child wrapped close to her body in a sling she'd fashioned. Adhemar glanced her way once more. The sight of her with a baby close to her breast was slowly becoming an appealing one. He knew his mother worried he'd die without an heir. She'd worried such since he'd become old enough to know how babies were made and embark on those endeavors. Her scorn for his taking Jocelyn to wife while knowing she was pregnant already had been made known every time he'd turned around.

Marian Adhemar had never liked his idea to wed Jocelyn. She'd promptly proclaimed the lady too appallingly strong-willed to let herself be subject to the rightful rule of a strong husband over her. Women like that one, she'd said, practically spitting the words from her lips, only want a man they can rule over themselves. They've no idea of the concept of their own weakness.

This coming from the woman who'd done her best to rule over his father during their stormy and long marriage. He supposed that Marian hated in Jocelyn what she knew was in herself. Her own weakness laid before her.

And so Marian had taken herself off to other climes, seeking out his siblings to make their lives a living hell. It was her letter that had informed him of the mismanaging of the Anjou properties. Christiana was in for a surprise when Marian greeted them at the gate.

Christiana, though everything Marian claimed he needed in a wife, was still not acceptable in his mother's eyes. Now if they arrived and Christiana could claim herself in an expectant state, perhaps then Marian would allow that she could possibly be acceptable. But only if she birthed a boy. It was slightly tempting to route them back on the straight road to Anjou and ride in there claiming Thatcher and Jocelyn's brat was really his and Christiana's. Of course, then Marian would scream that he'd defiled a maiden while expecting to be married to another and the child wasn't legal and the ploy would backfire horribly. Christiana still wouldn't be acceptable.

His mother was a mass of contradictions, but then, weren't all women?

He returned his attention to the road. If truth were told, this move to his Anjou property was a matter of family preservation. The fighting between the Black Prince's forces and King Charles' army were getting too close for comfort. He didn't mind battles when he was leading his men. That was the whole point of being a soldier. When he was laboring under his title however, the matter was entirely different. He had family and property and people beneath him to take into account.

His position politically right now was precarious to put it mildly. When Edward had refused to pay him and his men for those battles they'd fought for him and then, on top of it all, announced that Adhemar _had_ to fight Thatcher, he'd seen no reason to continue in any sort of loyalty to the man. Really, he expected payment for services rendered and if that wasn't forthcoming there was no reason to stick around and beg for it. Edward was not going to pay anyone anything. He hadn't for months. He was growing further and further into debt and showed no signs of being able to climb from it.

And so, Adhemar had gone to Charles, offering the bulk of his men for hire. As long as Charles consistently paid them all, he'd leave his men there. His defection from Edward's army had left a gaping hole in those forces, as the sum of men Adhemar led was not a small number. That defection had also brought about Edward's anger.

Yet another person who'd not mind seeing him dead. Just another day in the life of an Adhemar.

Silently, he wondered if Christiana was aware of any of it. Did she know that someday, she might wake to find he'd been murdered beside her while she slept?

He'd gotten used to the idea that he could be assassinated long ago. A man as politically entrenched as he was, switching sides as the money flowed had to be used to it. It was stupid not to face reality.

Briefly, he wondered if the small number of men he'd left with Edward had discovered anything of use. Their reports had been so slow in coming as to be non-existent. That didn't worry him. They had orders to deny loyalty to him if asked.

"My lord," Germaine called, Adhemar transferring his attention to the herald. Though he still grieved for his daughter and likely would for a long while, Germaine had insisted he could perform his duties. Adhemar had been hesitant to bring him along, wanting to leave Germaine behind with Annelle to pack up the household. Germaine would hear none of that. He'd insisted he had to work to keep from sliding into despair. He had to go on with life in the only way he knew how. So, he'd allowed Germaine to come along.

"Yes?"

"There's a camp ahead, an army. We'll have to ride through them to continue this path."

"Whose army?"

"The Black Prince."

Well, well. Time to see if Edward's hatred would leave Christiana a widow.

* * *

The ride through the army was an uneventful one, a small group of riders escorting their number down the length of the camp. No one they asked seemed to know where William Thatcher was. One suggested that he was still in Bordeaux at the court and another that he'd never left London. Yet another report indicated that he'd been sent on an errand and would not return for weeks.

Christiana could sense her husband's growing irritation, his mutterings under his breath becoming heated and almost loud enough to discern. Finally, a man came up to them. She recognized him as the herald that had remained at the Prince's side whenever he'd come to the tournaments.

The man bowed. "My lord. My lady. It is with regret that I inform you that Sir Thatcher has left this camp. He and his men have undertaken a dangerous assignment that may keep them from rejoining us. I suggest you travel to London and wait for him to rendezvous there."

"Not Bordeaux?" Adhemar scowled, as though Thatcher going to London didn't make sense. "I'd heard Sir Thatcher had Prince Edward's ear in the day by day. Is that not still so?"

Something flickered in the herald's eyes and he gave a quick glance about them before replying. "His task will eventually take him to London. I tell you this only because I know relations are..._well_ between your household and his. Were it anything but, Count Adhemar, I'd not say a word of his destination."

Relations were well? Was this man drunk? Christiana watched the play of expressions that flickered back and forth between the two, absolutely certain there was something happening that she didn't understand. For a brief second, Adhemar seemed taken aback by the statement, but then he nodded, inclining his head with a cautious question.

"I pray the Prince is healthy, like he was the last time I saw him."

There was a pause and then an answering nod. "He is, my lord. Exactly in the same manner."

"I see." Adhemar drew up tall in the saddle. He licked his lips, gave Germaine a glance and a slight motion of his hand. "Well then, my party and I shall seek out Sir Thatcher at a later date. I'd not want to distract him from his duty to the _Crown_."

Strangely genial words coming from Damien Adhemar. Christiana could not help but gape at him. He'd been intent upon tossing Christopher at Will as soon as possible, yet now he proclaimed his willingness to simply ride on? What on earth was really happening here?

The herald again glanced about. "I suggest you ride on, my lord, and quickly before night falls. There've been reports of thieves in these woods that aren't deterred by an army. There's a town not too far to the north. I'm certain you'll find adequate lodgings for the night."

They left the camp quickly, Adhemar pausing once they were out of sight of the guards at the edge. His words were for her ears alone. "Your friend Thatcher is playing a very dangerous game, Christiana, and I don't think he can begin to understand just how dangerous."

"What did all that mean," she ventured to ask.

He gave a mirthless laugh. "It means that Thatcher and I are both in the same boat now where Edward is concerned. Much of it was a warning, my love. Now isn't the time or place to discuss it. We need to hurry."

Hurry they did, yet they weren't quick enough to reach the town. Under the cover of shadows, the group was attacked. Terror laid upon Christiana's limbs, coating her as a fine, misty spray. She held on to the Christopher, conscious of his terrified wails. The soldiers Adhemar had brought with them began to fight, her husband urging her and Millicent to ride on, his order they do so a harsh bark as he drew the sword he had strapped to his side.

Not the best rider in good times, Millicent could not hold her place when her mount reared up. She slipped to the ground and Christiana saw metal flash towards the young woman. Christiana rode on, panic coursing through her veins. The pounding of the blood in her temples seemed to echo the pounding of her horse's hooves. Ahead of her, she saw a fire to the right of the road and slowed despite her panic.

"Go!" Adhemar kept yelling from behind her.

Beside the road, in a little campsite, were a man and a woman. The woman was struggling against the man and it suddenly dawned on her what was happening to the woman, as the man tugged at the cloth of her dress. She peered closer, her mouth opening. That's not Kate, she thought. It can't be. And Prince Edward? No, it's not them, only people who look like them. A trick of the low light.

"Go, wife, are you deaf?" Adhemar pulled along side her. His glance took in what she saw and he began cursing, using language she'd never heard before as he jumped down and strode towards the couple.

Content that he was helping the woman, she followed his order. She repeated to herself over and over that the two she'd seen were not those she thought they were. Soon, she heard signs of pursuit behind her and found her husband with a still form draped across his horse.

They rode on, searching for safety.

* * *

Kate sank to her knees, clutching her satchel to her and staring fearfully at the unpredictable man before her. She'd not gotten far before he had caught her. He'd brought ten men with him, as though it'd take that many to subdue one woman. Now, those men had been dismissed, told to amuse themselves out of his sight until he deemed it time to return to the big camp.

He stared back, hurt upon his face as though he had Will's place and felt Will's sorrow at her flight. "You ran from me, Kate. You _ran_."

She remained silent, lips trembling and a peculiar sinking sensation in her belly. Across the flickering flames of that small fire he'd laid out, his handsome features looked so hard and merciless. This, she thought, is the man that comes forth in battle, not the genial, gentle and wise prince, but rather this man of violent emotion. This dark warrior.

Dear God, save me, because I can't save myself.

A commotion began from the direction those men had taken on the road, screams and the terrified neighs of horses. Kate could only imagine what those ruffians were doing to some poor travelers, struggling to keep her full attention upon Edward. He was ignoring the noises almost easily, behaving like they were completely alone, with no one about for miles.

He came around the fire, crouching down. "Why? Why did you run? I'd never hurt you."

She couldn't stop the rush of words that leapt forth. "You _do_ hurt me, my lord. Your attentions rip me from the man I love, force me to flee you. Will trusts you and you covet what's his. That's not right. You shouldn't be taking this action."

"I love you, Kate," he gritted out, grabbing her arms and shaking her. Rage played darkly upon the lines and planes of his face. "I shouldn't and yet I do."

Kate shook her head. "It's not love! You lust after me. They're not the same thing."

A shout resounded in the air, full of command, and several riders raced past them on the road, the last one slowing, pausing.

His mouth came down upon hers, Kate trying to twist away. The kiss was savage and so hard that her teeth cut her lip. She tasted blood. His hands gripped her head, strong and hurting.

"I'll purge you from my system."

Her hands shoved at his chest, tried desperately to push him away.

"I will have you. With or without your consent."

She turned her head, again glimpsing the woman. For a second, she thought she recognized that rider.... Her dress was ripped, torn easily as old fabric and seams gave under Edward's strength. Kate screamed. The earth was cold under her back, Edward's weight terrifyingly solid above her, holding her down.

Another face appeared, this time above the prince's shoulder, Edward's weight lifting from her. The world receded sharply into darkness and Kate let it overtake her. Her last thought before slipping under was that it was better not to be conscious for what he had planned.

* * *

Adhemar carried the limp form to his horse and draped her across it. He gave a glance to the man on the ground, praying fervently that Prince Edward wouldn't remember who it was that had cracked him on the head.

Normally, he'd not have bothered with saving the woman, but Christiana had been horrified. He suspected she would have remained there in danger if he'd not taken action. Like many others, she'd idealized the Prince, not realizing that every man has a darkness within him, a darkness that cannot always be suppressed once unleashed to it's fullness.

His last audience with Edward, the only personal audience he'd had with the man, had been unsettling to say the least. He'd known Edward had a temper, known the Prince was a different man in war. What he hadn't known was just how great the difference was. Edward's kind, warm manner had disappeared, leaving behind a man colder and more calculating than Adhemar's enemies claimed _he_ to be. If Thatcher had seen Edward then, he might have changed his mind about being a close friend of the Prince.

The Prince had threatened to levy penalties against him if he refused to fight the newly titled Thatcher. He'd smirked a little, naming a sum that would take the entirety of the Adhemar wealth. Incentive for the reluctant. Fight or lose everything you've ever had. It was no wonder Damien had thoughts of murder on his mind to the extent that he actually tried it.

It didn't excuse his behavior, no. He should have held his temper in check and not tipped that lance.

He followed after Christiana, taking care to keep the still form of the woman from sliding from his mount.

* * *

The town loomed ahead, enclosed in a tall fence. Germaine was waiting at the gate, ready with a report of their losses as soon as they had dismounted. There were several. The wagon with Jocelyn's belongings had been lost, as had the wagon of their own belongings. They only had what was on their horses. Two men had died with the wagons and three more were injured, one likely to not live through the night.

Christiana watched her husband's lips tighten more with each statement, anger playing about his handsome features. She rocked the child as they walked, hoping to calm his cries.

The woman they'd rescued was slung over Adhemar's shoulder, still unconscious. He didn't seem to have any trouble holding her weight as he maneuvered along the street towards the building Germaine was leading them to.

"Millicent died as well. We'll have to search for a wet nurse to replace her. I've already sent a man out to ask about."

Approval was given to the plan and they entered the inn. The common room was boisterous with activity, loud and merry. Germaine took them to a room on the upper level, where Adhemar set the woman on the bed.

"We'll leave her there until she comes to."

The woman they'd found _was_ Kate. She was disheveled and in the sorriest state Christiana had ever seen the woman. She remembered Kate as particular about her appearance, yet not overly fussy. Kate preferred a clean body and clothes and tried to look relatively neat at all times.

Now though, she was dirty, mud streaking her clothes and skin. There was a bruised gash on her cheek and dried blood on her chin. Christiana shifted Christopher in her arms and took in the tears to Kate's clothing.

"He attacked her, you know," came Adhemar's voice from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. "He who?"

"Edward." When she only stared at him, he raised his brows. "Prince Edward, Christiana. The Black Prince of Wales. Ruler of Aquitaine --"

"I know who he is, Damien." His name, though she had avoided saying it until now, slipped from her tongue easily. Too easily. Christiana bit her lip. He didn't appear to notice that she'd addressed him by his christened name for the first time.

He came to her, undid her cloak and worked it from her so she wouldn't have to set Christopher down. "The man you met at tournament is the face he puts forth to his subjects. Prince Edward has many faces, Christiana. I've seen two. First is the one you saw. The second is his battle persona, the soldier. He is ruthless and if you consider me to be a heartless, vindictive bastard, then you've not met the soldier Edward. I suppose there is yet another side he shows to his wife and family, though I wouldn't know."

The heat of his body warmed her, taking away the chill that had crept over her skin. Christopher squirmed in her arms and she raised him up to her shoulder, slipping her arm securely under his rear. He hiccoughed, settled his head upon her shoulder and curled a hand to the edge of her bodice. "I don't understand."

Adhemar drew her to a chair, settled her in it. "Royalty has many obligations, I'm sure you're aware of that. It has more than being a noble, but I can draw a comparison for you. A noble has to show a certain face to those beneath him if he expects to be obeyed. The same goes to when he faces his enemies. He has to show them he will not give an inch. He has to be fierce and merciless to win a war. How do you win a war? By slaughtering your opponent until none remain who are against you."

"He wouldn't --"

"He would. He did. That gentle, compassionate man was the same one attacking that woman."

"Kate," she interrupted. "Her name's Kate."

Slowly, he stood, staring down at her with much interest. After a moment, he crossed his arms. "Now, she hasn't woken once, so how do you know what her name is?"

Christiana glanced across the room at Kate. "She's the farris that made Will...Sir Thatcher's armor. She traveled with them. Her name is Kate."

"Ahh...." A twitch of his lips. "Interesting. Not only is Thatcher in trouble, but also this Kate. Both of Edward's making in one way or another."

She relaxed back, feeling the baby on her shoulder draw in a deep breath. "Tell me what you meant earlier about the two of you in the same boat."

"Edward's herald said it. That reference to our households in good relations, it referred to my own fallout with the Prince -- which that man was present for --, implying that Thatcher has lost some favor for a similar infraction."

"Which was?"

"Refusing to keep on without pay. However, I think your _noble_ Sir Thatcher probably objected to something and announced his reservations to a plan. If the rendezvous point had been Bordeaux, it would indicate he was still a full hundred percent behind Edward and was still in favor. With it being London, that means he's no longer working strictly for Edward. He's been privy to secrets and I believe he's duty conscious enough to want to take any damaging secrets to England to put before the King. There are those on the Prince's staff who would feel duty bound to inform his father of anything detrimental. They may have recruited Thatcher. In that case, Thatcher has gotten neck deep in intrigue. Not a good thing for any of us in the end. And finally, the health comment. When I had my audience with Edward, he was in a temper and unreasonable. He is, as the man said, such now." He sighed. "I am a man Edward wants dead, Christiana. Your friend Thatcher is in the same position."

She watched him pace slowly before the fire, back and forth, mulling over what he'd said. Could he be wrong at all about any of it? She hoped so, yet didn't voice the question.

"For some reason, Edward wants William Thatcher dead. How very poetic if it's over the maid Kate. Trading one woman for another along with a rival for affection."

Christiana turned her attention to the still form on the bed and prayed fervently that history was not repeating itself in the events of that joust. What sort of figurative lance would _Edward_ tip to gain ground? The thought troubled her and she sat for a long while contemplating Adhemar's explanations.


	8. Chapter Eight

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Eight

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: As mentioned on the DVD, that word Wat constantly uses is not a curse word, though it does sound that way.

Thank you to all those who review my work. I may not always agree with the suggestions and criticism posted and sent to me in email, but I appreciate the time taken to give your opinions. Thank you. _Kasey_

* * *

He woke with a throbbing headache and the taste of blood in his mouth. Edward sat slowly and spat blood and saliva onto the ground. There was a welt on the inside of his lips and he ran his tongue along it, wincing. Raising a hand, he felt the painful place on his head, somehow unsurprised to find blood flowing freely from the wound.

The last thing he recalled was Count Adhemar hitting him.

Rage, dark and hot, warmed him and he struggled to contain it, taking several deep breathes. Edward got to his feet, looking over the clearing. Will would know Kate had left. How could he make it innocent? How could he absolve himself of blame? What could he do?

His hands were shaking and Edward raised them up a little, staring at them. He thought of Joan and of her skin beneath his hands. Then, he thought of Kate and the terror upon her face as his hands had ripped her dress. A gasp left him and he frowned, surveying the clearing as though seeing it for the first time.

There was a scrap of cloth on the ground by the fire....

A man stepped into the clearing, came towards him. "They got away, my lord. A couple men are dead, and a woman as well. We've got their wagons and goods. I've got the men taking the goods from them. I think we can sell --"

"Give me your sword." Edward dropped his hands and turned, a numbness taking him over.

"My lord?"

"Give me your sword," he repeated patiently. Confusion flickered in the man's eyes, but he handed Edward the sword. Taking it, Edward practiced with it a moment. It felt good to have a sword in his hands, calming. He knew what had to be done. This would set it all right again.

He thrust the sword out, into the man's stomach, and shoved it deep. With a heave, he pulled it out and watched the man die.

He wasn't to blame. It was Adhemar. Adhemar killed a man to take Kate away. He killed a man and soon Will would kill Adhemar. Will had to. He had to protect Kate. Edward was going to make sure of that.

* * *

The girl was young and still a child herself in Christiana's opinion, but she'd had a baby that had recently died. The girl would do and it was already arranged that she travel with them. Adhemar had paid her parents a decent sum for that part of the agreement.

Anne was her name. She was quiet and seemed more than a little awed by Christiana and Adhemar, something Christiana vowed would not last if she had her say. The last thing she needed was a girl hanging on to her every word as though it was Scripture on Sunday. She gave Christopher into Anne's arms and crossed to the bedside.

Kate should wake soon. The physician had taken one look at her and decided shock was the diagnosis. She'll wake soon enough, he'd said. Christiana had her doubts. There was a paleness to Kate's skin that made her look startlingly fragile.

Christiana watched over her, trying very hard not to listen to the temper tantrum her husband was having by the door. He was in a full out snit over the loss of men and horses, cursing everything from the dirt of the road to Prince Edward. She didn't blame him for his anger. However, he didn't have to be quite so vocal about it. Dust fairly billowed from the ceiling with every word. A few soft curses would have sufficed, but no, he had to throw a fit of epic proportions. The world had to know without a doubt that he was displeased.

She adjusted the blanket over Kate, then took a few steps back towards Anne, a glance showing her that Christopher was taking to her perfectly. In all fairness though, Adhemar's tantrums were usually of the silent sort. Normally, he had enough control over his temper to be icily calm about his displeasure. He must be extremely upset to lose that control to such an extent.

Germaine stood silently, waiting until his lord run out of breath and paused to draw in another before speaking.

"Orders for us, my lord?"

Adhemar stared at Germaine, slowly let out the breath he'd sucked in and rolled his shoulders. "Horses?"

"In the stables."

"Men?"

"All but two stationed there as well. I shall, of course, stand guard outside your door for first shift, then Henry and then Whittal." He motioned to the man beside him.

"Food?"

"Trays will be brought up soon."

Adhemar nodded, crossed his arms. "Good." His voice lowered to a murmur and Christiana returned her attention to the still form on the bed and was delighted to see Kate stirring.

* * *

Waking was an effort Kate was uncertain she wanted to continue making. She could hear noises around her, the soft swishing of fabric and the strident ring of a man's voice, though she couldn't seem to make out more than the angry tone. Whatever words he spoke escaped her, all sounding jumbled.

Behind her back was a comfortable mattress and, as she laid still, the realization hit her that she was still clothed. Her skirts twisted about her legs and the sleeve of her dress pulled tight on her shoulder. She was a bit bruised, yes, but not in the places she'd feared she would be.

Perhaps she'd open her eyes after all.

Kate was still in the process of deciding her action, when she heard the fussy cry of a baby.

Baby?

Her eyes popped open, searching for the source of the sound. In the process, she was relieved to note her surroundings were nowhere near Edward's tent. She was in a room, a well-appointed if somewhat crowded one.

In one corner, beside a small table holding a pitcher and basin, sat a girl rocking a baby. By the door stood two men and a boy, their voices now low.

"You're awake."

Turning her head, Kate met familiar eyes. Relief surged through her in a warm rush. Christiana crossed to her and sat on the bedside, though it was not a Christiana that Kate recognized. This woman was even more quiet, a solemnity to her features that hadn't been there months earlier. Her pronouncement caused the conversation to cease and silence settle upon the room. Kate struggled to a sitting position. Christiana was here, so Jocelyn had to be here somewhere as well. "I need to talk to Lady Jocelyn."

Christiana's gentle smile faded. She twisted something in her hand over and over. It was a ring, Kate glimpsed, a heavy, bejeweled masculine ring and the sort a nobleman gave his wife to show his claim upon her. "That," Christiana sighed heavily, "will be extremely difficult to bring about."

Kate stared at her, mind racing, trying to make some sense of the odd change in Christiana's manner and how she came to have such a ring on her hand. "Why?"

The reply that came was not from Christiana, but rather the man who moved into Kate's sight. Adhemar. He sauntered to Christiana, laid a possessive and familiar hand upon her shoulder. Kate had the urge to fling that hand away from Christiana. "Jocelyn died months ago. She's not likely to prattle on to or with anyone anytime soon." His gaze swept her coolly.

Jocelyn dead? Jocelyn? Kate wanted to flee the room. It wasn't that his stare was lecherous, she decided, for it wasn't, not at all. What caused her urge was the calculation in the depths of those green orbs, as though he'd run through every scenario that could happen from here, found one he preferred and would do his best to bring it about. Kate had never had occasion to be so close to this man before and just sitting calmly before him took all her energy.

How could Christiana stand to be so close to him?

Her own gaze flicked back and forth between them, asking a silent question. It was answered when Adhemar slipped his hand down, raised Christiana's hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

"See to her needs, _wife_, hmm?" Adhemar directed a smirk towards Kate and left, taking the men and boy with him.

Kate was alone with Christiana and the girl with the baby. She cast a glance towards the child, attempting to figure if it was Christiana's and was frustrated in the attempt when the girl turned herself away from them. "You married him? How," she asked, then shook her head. "Why? When, for that matter? What of Jocelyn?"

Christiana smoothed the covers, toyed with the edge of the sheet. "Will wasn't the only one with a secret. In my case, it was reversed to his. The lowly maid was actually a high born lady. An orphan, taken in as a child, then made to work for a living. I'd worked so long as a maid that I'd almost forgotten it until Damien asked me to tell him about myself." She frowned and bit her lip, as though she'd said something she hadn't meant to.

Drawing her legs up, Kate wrapped her arms about them. "Why marry him, Christiana? Of all people --"

"I wasn't given a choice. Jocelyn's father -- my guardian -- arranged it. There was no way he wanted me back in his household after Jocelyn died. I had nowhere to go."

The Christiana she'd known had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes and a quick smile at her lips. This woman didn't have either. That sadness about her made Kate feel like she was speaking to a complete stranger and not a woman she'd begun to make friends with. "Nowhere?" She repeated the word, incredulity in her voice until she remembered that Christiana didn't know Roland had lied to her. Christiana couldn't know that they would have welcomed her back to them with open arms and glad smiles.

"We've only been wed a few days, not even a full week. I'm not...horribly upset by it. He's actually been very good to me and he was good to Jocelyn as well. I mean, not many men would have tolerated his bride being pregnant by another man and then bothered to care for the child as he has."

Kate's heart felt like a cold lump in her chest. "Child?" Her lips were stiff and suddenly the coldness in her chest extended outward to encompass her limbs. "Jocelyn was pregnant?"

Christiana finally raised her eyes. "There wasn't time to let Will know."

"The baby's not yours," she whispered. The baby cried again and Kate shivered. A baby changed everything, didn't it? Will had been on his way to forgetting Jocelyn completely. Jocelyn was a thing of the past and now she was pushing her way into the present. She was dead, but the child changed everything. Kate would return to being second and Jocelyn would once more rule Will's heart. He would mourn anew for her loss and every day of seeing that boy would bring fresh pangs to his chest.

She felt tears streaming from her eyes and made no move to stop them. Nor did she answer Christiana's attempts to continue their talk.

Life was cruel sometimes.

* * *

The house was in a state of uproar, it was obvious even from a distance. Up close, it was overwhelming. News, apparently, had reached the manor that Prince Edward's army was near. Will and Roland were met at the gate, asked their business and told to wait. Will looked around with interest.

This was the house Jocelyn was in. This was where she lived now. With Adhemar. Will noticed wagons piled high with furniture, all in a line and wondered where they were going.

"Your business?"

There was a woman before them and he exchanged a glance with Roland. The woman was tall and sturdy of build, her manner no-nonsense. Long brown hair was swept over one shoulder. He cleared his throat. "Our business is with Jocelyn."

The woman's eyes widened and she let out a mirthless laugh. "Really. Let me take you to her then." She strode to the gate and through it. Will and Roland followed her. A little while later, they were in a cemetery. She pointed. "There. She lies there. Now, if you've business with my _current_ mistress, then you'll need to ride north to Anjou, for they are on their way to that house as we speak."

For a moment, Will couldn't understand why they were in that cemetery and why this woman was pointing at a stone, but then -- _then_ -- he understood. He staggered, fell to his knees before the stone marking a grave. Chiseled upon it was her name -- Jocelyn -- and the date. Months ago. Jocelyn had been dead for months. All this time, he'd imagined her settling in, becoming used to having Adhemar as husband and graciously taking on the role. He'd imagined her warm and alive, for his Jocelyn could never be anything else. He'd imagined her laughing and smiling and....

Sound intruded upon his mourning and he glanced over his shoulder, blinking through tears. Roland was giving the woman a piece of his mind, telling her exactly how cruel her action had been, his tone cutting.

"She held a piece of his heart for months and to tell him she's passed in that manner was unnecessarily cruel. Who the hell are you, woman, to decide a death can be told of with no respect to it?"

The woman crossed her arms and stared up at Roland with a stony expression. When his words ran out, she stepped around him and knelt beside Will. She bowed her head and clasped pale hands together on her thighs. "I'm sorry, Sir Thatcher. These past two weeks have been excruciating for me. My daughter died in a fire, not an excuse, I know. Forgive me, I meant no disrespect. My tongue is loose it seems and my temper much frayed --"

Will looked away from her. "It was harsh, lady."

"I'm no lady, but thank you. I'm Annelle, wife of Germaine. I'm currently helping our steward oversee the moving of the household."

"I sent a woman here not a day ago. Did she arrive safely?"

Annelle shook her head, one hand sweeping her hair around to her back. "The only visitors we've had were messengers. No women."

A curse strangled in his throat. Roland's hand came upon his shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze. "She's not here, Roland." On the heels of the news of Jocelyn's death, the news that Kate was missing was like one of those blows Adhemar had dished out with his lance during tournament. It was crushing him.

"We'll find her, Will."

Will turned, stared up at Roland, blinking back his tears. "Jocelyn is gone, really gone. She's buried and gone and I won't lose Kate as well. We have to find her."

Annelle got to her feet. "I'm sorry. I can see that you're both fed and given shelter for the night if you like, but I can't find your missing woman. We've no men to spare for a search. Again, accept my apology for the manner in which I gave you news of my lady's death. I had no idea who you were."

Will stood as well, asking the question burning in his mind. "How did she die? Was it quick?"

"She died giving birth. There was so much blood.... The midwife had to reach in and pull the babe out, otherwise he would have died as well."

Adhemar had a son by Jocelyn. A son. At least some part of Jocelyn lived on. The past slipped from him. He vowed to properly grieve for Jocelyn at a later date, once Kate was safe back with him. Now was not the time to give in. He needed to be strong right at this moment. Will's thoughts returned to Kate and the peril he feared she'd be in the longer she was alone in this area. War had brought scavengers and thieves and he hoped she'd not run afoul of any.

"Come Roland. Let's meet up with Wat."

They left Annelle standing in the cemetery.

* * *

As much as Wat adored a good fight, he hated fighting a royal messenger. It was necessary, however, since the man was trying to kill him. He snapped a punch at the man's face, letting out a list of curses that he was rather proud of stringing together. They had a lovely resonant ring to them.

Blood splattered, the man staggering, pulling a knife and lunging.

Wat evaded the knife easily. After long moments, he got his opponent onto the ground, trapped beneath him. One hand in the man's hair, he smacked the messenger's head against the ground. "You had enough, yet?" Another smack. "How about now?"

An incoherent mumble was his reply and after another minute, the man's body went limp.

"It's about time," Wat mumbled. He tied the man with rope from his saddlebag, then spent a leisured few minutes going through the man's possessions. No rolled letters, nothing. There was nothing to indicate who had sent him, though to Wat's mind, the royal colors he wore proclaimed it loudly enough. Oh, the coat was muted, the coat-of-arms small and partially hidden, but it was still there.

Prince Edward.

Leaving the messenger, Wat began the short ride to where he'd meet up with Will and Roland. The assassin hadn't been very far from Edward's camp, not even a full day of riding. He supposed the plan was for them all to be killed, or at least Will, and for Edward to come riding to the spot and announce the messenger had been a French spy. He'd claim the man was sent by Charles and the troops would rally about him, more eager for this coming battle at Limoges than they already were. He'd make it sound like Charles was going to come and slaughter them all in minutes.

Will had gotten himself neck deep as usual. He had a knack for that, Wat thought. He'd jumped into being a soldier, into being at the Prince's right hand. For awhile it went rather well. There were perks involved. Excellent food, good company.

But then that began to change, as well as Edward himself. Wat had an excitable temperament, he knew it well. He used it and it worked for him. Edward was calm on the surface, excitable on the inside. That calm had slowly slipped away until he rarely kept a hold on his temper. The slightest things could set off a temper tantrum of such proportions that even Wat was impressed by it.

Couple that with the rougher element that began to add to their numbers and it was a mix for disaster. Men were in the camp who did the Prince's orders _too_ well. They had no one to hold them in check. With the loyal soldiers leaving due to both a wont of coin and Edward's explosive temperament, only the mercenaries were left, men of little values and no loyalty save to themselves. If Edward ordered a man killed in a fit of temper, that man was dead before the tantrum had passed. Killing and thievery were what those men delighted in. They reveled in it, rolled in it and made themselves gluttons in it.

Will had been approached late one night. Marin, the Prince's favorite herald, had come to him, expressed concern for his lord and asked if Will felt the same. From then on, a plan was hatched for Will to take a letter that Marin would write to London. They only had to wait for the right time for Will to slip away on that errand.

It was to save a country, that was what Marin said. He played on Will's loyalty to his homeland and on his concern for the Prince. The royal family needed to know of the problems so that they could attempt to fix them. They needed to know that Edward was not well and was not coping with his sickness in a good manner.

Will had agreed and asked Roland and Wat to help him. He'd kept Kate from it though, not wanting her to be entrenched in the danger. When they'd come to this area, Roland had discreetly asked the men that had once been in Adhemar's army about the family. They'd given him a decent amount of information and Roland had returned with a plan of his own to get Kate to some semblance of safety. Wat had thought him crazy at first. Send Kate to Adhemar? There were about a million things wrong with that plan. And Will had agreed with Wat -- at first. Kate would not be sent to Adhemar.

But then he'd gotten them up one morning and given his approval. Kate had to be sent to safety. There was no other way for it. She had to go and soon. Will had suspicions and nothing was changing those suspicions. In fact, they were strengthening. He suspected Edward of being behind the problems in the camp regarding Kate.

How twisted was that?

Wat didn't understand it all and he didn't want to. All he'd ever wanted in life was to settle down and run a tavern. He wanted to relax, to kick back and watch travelers come through his doors. He wanted to show hospitality to others. It was a good dream and one he'd held on to for as long as he could remember.

What did he get instead?

"A war," he muttered. "I get a fonging war."

Disgust twisted his lips and he quickened the pace.

* * *

Will had thoughts of Kate on his mind as he, Roland and Wat rode back into the Prince's camp. A quick tour of the camp found her missing. Visions of her hurt or dying somewhere filled his mind in an unceasing torrent and it was only through sheer force of will that he didn't run from the camp as quickly as he could to find her.

He had to stay and speak with Edward.

He knew Kate had not gotten to Adhemar's and she wasn't there in the camp now. So where was she? Did Edward know?

He was not kept waiting, Marin showing him right in to see Edward. Edward was in a chair, a bandage white upon his head and the surgeon taking leeches from his arm. At Will's questioning look, he sat up tall.

"Adhemar," he spit out. "Clubbed me on the head and took your Kate off with him."

Will found he could not speak. Adhemar took Kate? Why? His mind whirled, trying to keep facts straight. He'd been told Adhemar was going to Anjou. That road was a ways from this one and he was supposed to be traveling with his new wife and son. Why would he stop in the middle of Edward's army and take the time to figure out which woman was Kate? Why even care? Months had gone by and Jocelyn had died birthing Adhemar a son. He'd won, so why spend time and effort on Will again?

"My men tell me he's vowed to destroy you, make you admit you're still a peasant under the title. He still bears bitter blood towards you, Will. I was a fool to send the guards away while Kate and I prepared a meal. That doesn't happen often." Gingerly, he touched the bandage on his head, gaze turning to the tabletop beside him. "She was sad about your leaving to meet the messenger and more than a bit afraid you'd not return. I assured her there was no danger. Apparently I was wrong. Adhemar killed one man and didn't hesitate to wound me. He risked my wrath because of this hatred for you, and believe me, he knows how angry I can get. I'm sorry I couldn't keep him from taking her."

"Was he alone?"

"No. He had men with him. He recognized her, Will. He recognized her and took her."

Will crossed his arms, nodded. "I see." Was it an act? Was Edward pretending? He couldn't be pretending his upset, for it seemed too real. "He has her then." If it was true, then Kate was exactly where he'd wanted her to be.

Jocelyn was dead though and he had no idea what had happened to Christiana. He and Roland had not ventured to ask Annelle as they undoubtedly should have. In all likelihood, Christiana was back with Jocelyn's family by now, so there was no one to intercede for Kate, if indeed Adhemar did have her.

"I know how much you care for her, Will." The surgeon took the last of the leeches and was dismissed, Edward pouring a cup of wine and sipping it. "We don't need you here. The battle is planned and I can do without you and your two men for a little while. Go after him. Rescue Kate and meet up with us later." He relaxed back in his chair. "Now, of your mission. How went it?"

"The messenger met us early on the road, but he had no report for you." Will glanced to the ground. "There was nothing."

"I suspected such, but had to know for sure. I knew I could trust you with whatever information he might have had."

"Thank you." Will couldn't quite meet the man's eyes. An assassin waiting was a strange way to show trust.

"Whenever you're ready to go after Adhemar, you have my leave to go."

Already, Will was making mental plans to that end. He would send Wat on ahead. Used to the role of messenger, Wat would ride quickly and with luck, he'd find Adhemar and Kate with little trouble.


	9. Chapter Nine

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Nine

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

* * *

Scarce had Will returned to his tents than Marin was there wanting to speak with him alone. He pressed the man to help with the packing and refused to have that conversation until nothing but the big tent was left.

Marin's voice was low and urgent. "A party came looking for you. I suggest you find them."

"It'll have to wait, " Will gritted out. "I'm going after Adhemar." He turned to exit his tent and was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"I also advise you to not go charging angrily into Count Adhemar's camp." He glanced about nervously, releasing Will's arm.

"And why is that?" Will asked, impatience tugging at him. This tent was the last thing to pack up and then they could be gone from here. One last thing and he could be after Adhemar and Kate.

"Because, Sir Thatcher, he was bringing something to you."

Frustration at the vague conversations he'd been having lately reared up and he let out a growl. "Will you be direct for once? There's no one listening save Roland, man!"

Anger and fear played in his eyes. "And you must understand that I can't take the risk! I am my lord's most trusted man, the only one he fully trusted to keep his secret at tournament. If he finds I'm plotting to bring his family in, I could well be killed. My life is on the line, Sir Will. I remember when my lord, my Prince, was a gentle man and good in battle only for his skill. Something changed in him. After one battle, where he was gravely injured, a head wound that bled forever, he changed. He began to become more violent and lately, it's happening almost constantly. I can't be in the line of his anger."

Emotion drained from Will as the enormity of what they'd set into motion crashed over him as a wave. Hands resting on his hips, he sighed. "I know. Believe me, Marin, I know. I met that kind man and it's because I see him slipping away that I agreed to help you. But please, please answer me directly on this one matter. What on earth would Adhemar be bringing to me?"

From the folds of his tunic, Marin brought out a small bundle and opened it. "The scarf has the name 'Jocelyn' embroidered onto it. I assumed this necklace was hers as well. His party asked about for you."

Reaching out, Will took the scarf and the necklace. He recognized both. The necklace was the one she'd worn at that final joust, a delicate, yet intricate piece of jewelry. "Such a small bundle for his journey. Why bring this but take Kate? It doesn't make sense, Marin."

Marin snorted. "There was an entire wagon. This was all scavengers hadn't taken. I found it wedged beneath the wreckage."

"Wreckage?"

"Yes. Not far from where Kate was taken."

Will looked up at him. "_Was_ she taken?"

Marin shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't there. I have only my lord's word on what happened. I did see the body of the man and there is the matter of that lump on my lord's head. Something did occur, but what I couldn't say."

They left the tent and Will, Marin and Roland took it down. In less than an hour, Will and Roland were gone, hot on Wat's trail.

* * *

The child looked like Jocelyn, Kate decided. There was no denying who the mother was and if Kate looked closely, she thought she could see Will in the shape of Christopher's lips and face. She still hadn't gotten up the courage to hold the boy yet. They'd been traveling four days and she could not bring herself to pick him up. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a child and still she found that she was. How irrational was that?

She watched Christiana with him and wondered how soon until Christiana had her own child to cuddle. She'd make a good mother. She paid a good deal of attention to Christopher, rocking him when he cried and simply holding him. Would Adhemar make a good father? Kate turned her attention towards him, frowning. She'd not seen him touch the baby once. He seemed to avoid going near Christopher at all and now Christiana was gently teasing him about it.

It was fascinating to actually see the tiniest curl at the corner of his mouth, a smile Kate realized. He was almost smiling, a warmth growing in his eyes at the good natured ribbing Christiana was giving him. In that second, with humor growing upon his face, he became human for Kate. He was no longer that arrogant, cruel opponent Will had faced at tournament, but a man of flesh and blood who was far more complicated than what she'd seen at tournament. He was capable of something other than hate.

"You think I don't know how to hold a child?" He sat back in his chair.

Christiana's brows were raised in mute challenge and she shifted her weight as though to hand him Christopher.

Kate sat up a little straighter on the edge of the bed, very curious as to how this would end. Would Adhemar take the bait Christiana dangled before him or would he ignore it? Christiana's expression became taunting, lips pursing as though she was holding back a triumphant grin. It was also fascinating to Kate that Christiana would dare to tease him. She behaved as though it was easy for her to do so, like she'd come to a point in their relationship where she could determine the best time to jest with him.

"I've held many babies in my life, Christiana. I certainly don't need to hold another right now."

"Um-hmm." Christopher wiggled in her arms and giggled, kicking his feet.

"I don't need to prove my ability."

"Of course not. That would be unthinkable." She lifted Christopher up high and bounced him, eliciting a delighting screech from the boy.

Without further protest, the challenge was met. Squaring his jaw, Adhemar got up from his chair and strode to her, taking hold of Christopher and lifting him to him. He settled the boy in the crook of his arm. Christopher immediately took to the higher position, wiggling until he'd turned, little hands gripping the edge of Adhemar's coat. Adhemar smirked. "See. I do so know how to hold a child."

Christiana's smile was soft and Kate's amusement faded as she glimpsed her expression fully. Oh no, she thought. Christiana's in love with him.

The emotion was evident on her face, giving her that glow that only happiness brings about. Kate turned away from them and prayed that Will would find her soon.

* * *

Nausea rolled in Edward's stomach and he pressed a shaking hand to his forehead, praying that these pains in his body would cease once and for all. He despised these headaches that would come upon him, pains that were increasing in frequency. It was during those times that his patience slipped away and he found himself behaving in a manner that disgusted himself.

He wanted it all to end. He wanted the guilt of attacking Kate to go away, the anguish of losing his son to disappear and for his body and mind to return to what they had once been. Clarity of thought was a brief thing these days, his emotions boiling in his blood, jumbling together and leaving him confused by his own behavior.

Was he being punished? Had he displeased God and this was his punishment?

Edward laid back on his bed, ignoring his advisors and all those people who professed such concern for his welfare. Their voices in the outer area of his tent were incomprehensible babbles. He could barely make out their words through the haze of stabbing pain the settled over him as a blanket, though it was clear that reoccurring nature of his illness frightened them all.

It frightened him as well.

His fingers slipped up and beneath one pillow to draw out that slip of cloth he'd found in the clearing. It was a piece torn from Kate's dress and he ran his fingers over the well-worn cloth. He loved his wife, really he did, so why had he been so obsessed over Kate? Why had thoughts of the maid caused stirrings of desire within him? Never had he lusted after another man's woman before. Never. He'd noticed beauty yes, but to betray Joan with his thoughts, and then his actions?

Reasons that had made perfect sense at the time no longer fit neatly in a box together, the pieces of them jagged and sharp. He'd made things right though. He'd given Will Adhemar.

A frown creased his brow and he put the scrap of cloth back under the pillow in a furtive movement, careful not to let anyone notice what he was doing. No, that didn't make it right. He knew very well that Adhemar hadn't taken Kate out of malice. He'd taken Kate to save her from Edward.

I've lied, he thought, eyes opening wide to stare despondently at the ceiling of his tent. When did I change? When did I become a man with no honor, stooping to murder and lies to achieve my ends? And when did my ends become so lecherous and wretched? When did I become the very thing I hate?

The pain became blinding and he cried out, the world becoming enshrouded in fog about him as his surgeon hurried in with the jar of leeches.

* * *

Nighttime was what Christiana loved best as they traveled. In the night, he was hers alone. His men didn't bother them and Kate and Anne kept as far from them as they could go in the rooms they took in inns.

They'd talk in low voices, genial conversations that made Christiana feel as though he harbored a gentle feeling for her within him. It wasn't true and she knew it. He'd already expressed that he couldn't be that man she yearned for, so she took what he offered her and made herself find contentment in it.

Kate's story of the Prince's actions had distressed Christiana and given Adhemar great glee. He'd smirked at the thought of Edward losing his grip on sanity and been absolutely cheerful in his ideas on how to keep Kate from him. He was even friendly with Kate, actually listening to her words instead of dismissing them as was his usual manner with one of peasant class.

"Edward," he'd intoned, " has never done anything for me except engineer my humiliation in London and cheat me out of nearly a years worth of pay. I owe him nothing. To thwart him in any way is a delight."

He'd not come up with a viable plan however.

Christiana tentatively tendered an idea of her own. When she was very young, correspondence had begun to arrive for her from a distant cousin in Italy. The girl, named Francesca, was a bit older than her. There had been a vague mention of houses united by marriage and an expression of sadness in the deaths of Christiana's parents, but Christiana had never been able to figure out how the girl was related to her exactly. All she knew was that, once a year, she received a letter from her, or rather that branch of the family.

The letters were generic things, listing political occurrences and little of familial gossip. She and Jocelyn had enjoyed going over the letters and imagining the people there in that country. They'd had spirited discussions about Francesca, wondering if she really was who she claimed, for Jocelyn's father maintained that Christiana's parents were the last of both their houses. He'd declared the letters fake, a way for someone to cause false hope in Christiana's mind of a family intact. He'd blustered and fumed, yet not denied Christiana the reading of those letters.

Each letter singly was easy to forget and to this day, Christiana knew little about Francesca except that she was something of a crusader for lost causes and considered a novelty for it. Christiana didn't believe the letters were fake, for the messengers had been exotic men, whose accents were melodious and their native language pleasing to hear, though neither girl understood one word of what they said. Jocelyn's mother had affirmed that the messengers were Italian, so Jocelyn and Christiana had always eagerly greeted them.

Was Francesca still alive? Possibly. No letter had come in a long while. She could have died. However, sending Kate to her would take Kate from Edward's immediate reach and if the woman had died, Kate could always slip back home. By the time such a journey would be over and Kate returned, it was likely the Prince would have forgotten about her altogether. Politics could have changed as well and Kate would have no need to fear.

Adhemar listened to her whispered plan, asking questions until his curiosity was satisfied, then giving her a kiss. "You are full of surprises, Christiana. Italian nobility even. What else is a part of you that I'll be surprised with?"

She had no answer for him and when his attentions turned amorous, she was more than willing to comply.

* * *

It was not as difficult as Kate imagined to pick up Christopher. Christiana forced it upon her in a sneaky manner, shoving the boy at her so that she had no choice in it. She'd no idea Christiana had a streak of deviousness in her. Kate took him and held him and found herself growing comforted by the child as he settled against her. It seemed strange to her that he wasn't upset by being handed off to whatever person was closest. Instead, he enjoyed it, cooing and giggling.

He still threw tantrums, like when he was hungry and needed changing, but for all of that, Kate decided he was a well behaved child. She rocked him to her, astonished by how quickly she became used to playing a mother. This child was a part of Will and all she had until Will returned to her, if he ever did.

"I've a distant cousin in Italy," Christiana said softly with a glance at her husband. "You could go there, Kate. I'm certain she'd give you shelter."

"How will Will find me if I run off to Italy?"

"We'll send him to you."

It was all so simple to Christiana, Kate saw. Boom, boom, boom, from one point to another. Kate's lips thinned into a prim line. "Begging your pardon, Christiana, but I can't be certain of that."

"Why ever not?" Christiana gave a puzzled frown that didn't lift even when Kate inclined her head towards the strangely silent Adhemar.

"I don't trust your husband," she said with as much candor as she could.

Adhemar laughed, a chuckle holding unchecked amusement. After a moment, he circled the chairs and crouched down so that he was at eye level with Kate. While she no longer felt like running from his presence, close proximity made her break into a nervous sweat. "Who risked the wrath of a prince to save you from ravishment?"

Licking her lips, she shifter Christopher in her arms before replying. "At Christiana's will."

His brows raised. "Still. Does the will matter more than the deed? Who was it also cared for a child not his and undertook a journey to take said child to his father?"

Kate blinked, snorted gently. "It's not like you personally cared for him. It's obvious you never picked him up or even touched him until a couple days ago."

"Yes, but I gave monies, a considerable amount I might add, for his care. I could have had him strangled and didn't, girl. Give me some credit for that at least."

"You've yet to prove yourself trustworthy in my eyes, my lord. Besides, I somehow think you don't care if I trust you or not."

His eyes narrowed, lips pursing. "The trust of a peasant woman is not high on things I care for, no. However, Christiana trusts me, and if you trust her, then by extension, you should trust me as well." He stood. "If Thatcher wishes to run about after you instead of reaching for a noble lady as his title lends him the access too, then who am I to stand in the way of his peasant instincts? Once a peasant, always a peasant. A title won't change that."

Kate squeezed her arms about Christopher and he gave a tiny wail. Adhemar's gaze drifted down to him, rested there a moment, then went to Christiana. He strode to her, ran his fingers along her cheek and left.

* * *

Her cries were soft, but not so much that he couldn't hear them through the door panel.

Damien stayed the hand he'd reached out, listening to the words of the two within.

"I miss him so much, Christiana. My heart is breaking in my chest and it feels as though I can't breathe!"

Christiana's voice was soothing in tone and he pictured her giving her lady a comforting hug. "You have to let him go; accept your life as it is now."

"I can't! Life has frozen around me in a wasteland of emptiness and there is no warmth without Will. He was my heart and now he's gone. I will never, ever love another man. I can't betray my memories like that."

Damien swallowed hard, a tightness growing in his chest. Contrary to Jocelyn's belief, he wasn't an uncaring, unfeeling monster. He cared for her and cared deeply. If she'd let him, **he'd** bring warmth back into her life. She refused and refused time and again. In daily things, she sent Christiana in her stead. Jocelyn ate alone in the master's chambers and if he desired to see that beauty he'd noticed from the first, he had to seek her out, something that she was making increasingly difficult.

He'd give her the world if she'd let him.

But she wouldn't let him and she'd never let him forget that he wasn't her choice.

"The babe is all I have."

He wondered if she was rubbing a hand along the growing swell of her belly. She did that quite a bit when he was around, as though she wanted to rub it in that she carried Thatcher's child and not his. As though she wanted to? He shook his head. She did want to.

He may have won the fight against Thatcher, but now he had a war with Jocelyn to contend with.

"Not so, Jocelyn. You have friends here and your husband --"

"No!" That word was a hurting snarl, filled with hate. "He doesn't care for me. All he cares is that he won over Will in the end. I'm just a pretty thing to look at, nothing more. That's what he wanted and that's all he'll get from me."

Damien Adhemar woke with a jerk, sweat sticking the sheet to his body. One might assume from his life, that his nightmares were visions of wars lost and the dangers of the loser in the hands of the victor. This was not so. His nightmares lately were visions of real-life occurrences with Jocelyn at the center. His mind seemed intent upon making him relive every cutting, hateful thing she'd done in their marriage.

Carefully, he rolled over and sat up, watching Christiana for a long moment. She was still asleep, so he was fairly certain he'd not cried out. If he had, she'd have woken and hurried to comfort him. She strove to help him forget his nightmares. He really was grateful for her. She was a soothing balm when he needed it.

He got up from the bed and slipped on his trousers. The cool air chilled his flesh, sending shivers along him. In the corner, the babe stirred, cooing contentedly. Damien stepped over Kate and Anne's slumbering forms and stared at Christopher a second before going to Kate and waking her.

"Mistress Kate."

Slowly, she woke, eyes fluttering before opening wide. "Mmm?"

"The child," he paused, swallowed and continued, making an effort to refer to the boy by name. "Christopher stirs. You must take charge of him, be his mother now."

She sat, her expression wary. "Why me?"

He didn't answer, watching her and waiting for her to supply the answer herself. She was smart, for both a peasant and a woman. Surely she could make the connection.

Biting her lip, she turned her attention to Christopher. "I'm leaving and taking him with me, then? Why take him?" Her glance returned to him, then fled. "He's not yours. You don't want him. He needs a woman's care, a woman who remembers his mother and can tell him of her. Having him with me will give me something of Will in case I never see him again...."

"Yes. Christiana and I can't take him, as much as she wants to. I know she longs to keep him, but my family won't accept him. He'll have nothing and would be little more than a servant. With you, he has some chance. If this Francesca is what she made herself to be in those letters, then she'll make certain he's treated in accordance to his station."

"His station? You consider Will a peasant still."

Adhemar shrugged. "Ahh, but his mother was a lady. He has a bit of Jocelyn in him and I cannot hold a tiny child in contempt. I may dislike his father, but I cared for his mother deeply. I wish no ill will on her son. This is best for him. Thatcher will learn he's with you and where you're headed whenever he comes to us, if he does come to us."

She thought that over and he wasn't surprised when she stood and went to Christopher. Picking him, she held him to her shoulder and cuddled him.

He returned to bed, sliding beneath the covers and turning his back so that he didn't have to watch Kate bond with the child. His last thought before he returned to sleep was that he should get Christiana with child soon so she'd not be too disappointed in Christopher leaving with Kate.

* * *

The morning brought Wat to yet another inn that had Adhemar listed among the travelers. His party was already gone. Frustration kept growing higher and higher inside Wat and he felt he was going to burst from it if he didn't find them soon. It seemed that he was directly behind them, right on their heels and yet couldn't quite reach them. He knew Will had to be close behind him. At the rate this was going, they were all going to be in Anjou before they met.

He set out on the rode again. The weather was foul -- like his mood -- and under the cover of rain, he nearly missed the group of travelers sitting out the storm in the shelter of a canopy of trees by the side of the road. It was only the falling branch into the center of the road before him that made him stop his breakneck pace.

Turning, he made his way to the canopy and discovered those travelers, along with familiar faces.

"Kate," he called, grabbing her into a soggy hug. He registered the child in her arms, his questioning glance going unanswered as Christiana greeted him.

Then Adhemar. No words from the man, only a brief nod of his head.

"Kate, you're not hurt?" He didn't see any obvious injuries upon her.

"Not at all," she answered. "Well, save for my aches from when Prince Edward attacked me...."

Anger simmered in him. "He attacked you? When? What really happened? Will said he claimed Adhemar..._Count_ Adhemar," he corrected quickly, "stole you from camp."

The story was given, Adhemar still remaining silent. Kate and Christiana did the talking, their explanations and proposed plan of action leaving his mind whirling.

"You're going where? Italy?" Kate nodded at that and he glanced about at the group. "Well, who's going with you?"

Adhemar's voice came, arrogant and sure. "Aside from Christopher's wet nurse, I would say you are." His arms were crossed over his chest. "You know her, she trusts you and you'll keep her safe, I assume."

Wat held his tongue. For once, he felt it prudent to keep from speaking.

"She has monies. I've supplemented the considerable sum Thatcher supplied her with. The child should be well looked after. Those coins are for his comfort. We were going to part company at the fork in the road a few miles north. She'll curve about on it, going east for a space, then move south. The route I've outlined for her will take her far from the armies I'm aware of. She should be fairly safe, as safe as any traveler can be. However, she'll be safer with a friend along."

There were so many questions in Wat's mind, like why was Christiana still in the household with Jocelyn dead and what was Kate doing taking Adhemar's son to Italy with her? He supposed the man had his reasons for both and decided to wait and ask Kate about them later. Slowly, Wat nodded. "Fine. But Will has to know where we go."

"It'll be taken care of," Christiana said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Go with God, Wat. I doubt we'll see each other again."

Probably not, he agreed. Italy was a long way off. "You too." He embraced her, a quick wrapping of his arms about her. Standing tall, he found Adhemar's gaze upon them, geniality gone and a hardness entering into those depths. Was that jealousy he glimpsed?

Before he could consider that notion further, the Count strode forward, putting himself between Wat and Christiana and causing Wat to stumble back. Once more Wat held his tongue and added his temper into that mix.

"Take Kate and Anne and go. Now."

The rain was still pouring, but Wat didn't argue with the directive. The sooner they were away from Adhemar, the better. He helped Anne, then Kate onto horses, situated the baby in a sort of sling close to Kate's body and they left the party. A last glance back showed Adhemar pulling Christiana tight to him, a possessive arm draped over her shoulder.

He gave a fervent prayer that Will would catch up with them before too long, and then Wat, Kate and Anne began their journey together towards Italy.


	10. Chapter Ten

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Ten

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

* * *

Kate was not there and neither was Wat. Will saw that in a single glance and wondered if he looked as dejected as he felt right at that moment. The only woman in the party was Christiana and there was no child with them. He slid from his mount, legs threatening not to hold him. Adhemar was traveling with his wife and the only woman was Christiana. Christiana, he thought. That meant that she was the wife spoken of by Annelle, didn't it? 

Adhemar waited and Will knew he had to say something; to greet the man with his head held high. He had to take it for granted that they were on equal footing now, though he knew in reality it wasn't that way. This man would never accept him as equal. "You had Kate with you." He said it in a fashion that was not a question and Adhemar's lips turned up just a little. not really a smile, but rather a barinf of teeth.

"We did."

Roland came up beside Will, a show of support. Will noticed pain cross Christiana's face, a fleeting glimpse and something quickly masked as she moved closer to Adhemar's side.

"She's gone now and no, I did her no harm. My wife can attest to that." With that pronouncement, he slipped his arm about Christiana's waist. "Your man was here as well, that redhead. They left together."

Christiana's expression became cross and she gave Adhemar a glance before speaking. "Wat was taking her to safety, Will."

Once more, Will examined the group of travelers, feeling somewhat better knowing Wat and Kate were together. "And what of your son, Adhemar? Where is he?"

"_My_ son?" His brows rose sharply and he gave a little scoffing laugh.

"Yes, your son. I'd heard you had him with you and yet I see no child at all."

The man stepped forward until they were a couple feet apart. Then, he shook his head. "I assure you, Christopher was not my son."

"The woman Annelle said Jocelyn died giving birth to a boy."

Adhemar smirked. "Again, he's not mine, Thatcher. Make the connection. Who else could have fathered a child upon her?"

There was a faint glimmer of understanding in his mind, but he still couldn't pull it firmly into focus. It seemed to be taking him longer than usual to understand anything that Adhemar was saying. "If not you...." He glanced at Roland, then Christiana and back to Adhemar. "Me?"

"Hallelujah, the peasant made noble finally grasps a simple concept. Yes, Thatcher, the son Annelle spoke of is yours. Kate is carrying him with her."

He'd been hit with a lance of gigantic proportions. His entire being was numb beneath the blow and all Will could do was stand and stare. Would the shocks never end? Was he to spend the rest of his days being hit over the head?

Will wasn't even aware of the steadying arm Roland put about him, gaze moving helplessly between Adhemar and Christiana, searching for...what? What did he hope to find?

Finally, Christiana left the circle of her husband's arm, stepping forward and reaching a hand out to touch his arm. "Come. You look chilled. Come warm before the fire."

He followed.

* * *

There was a change about Christiana that saddened Roland the more he watched her over the flickering flames of the fire. It was almost impossible to wrap his mind about the fact that she'd married Adhemar. She'd given only a brief explanation of how that had happened, but _still_. Adhemar? Gentle Christiana with arrogant Adhemar? It had been taken out of her hands, of course. A ward, he knew, had to marry who her guardian wanted, like a daughter did. A ward was like a daughter. 

Jocelyn's father had treated her like a servant though, a lowly maid for Jocelyn. So why acknowledge her true station after so many years and have her marry Adhemar?

Roland shook his head. Sometimes, the workings of the minds of nobility confused him.

He lowered his gaze from her, not wanting Adhemar to catch him staring at her. The man was jealous of both of them, giving both he and Will glares if they so much as stood too close to Christiana.

I never should have pushed her away, he thought. How could he have accepted her at his side though, knowing her first loyalty was to Jocelyn? If she'd stayed, she'd not have been happy knowing Jocelyn was alone with Adhemar. She'd have been sad and he would have no way to cheer her.

He'd made a choice, albeit a stupid one he realized. Now, he'd have to deal with it. He'd have to finish letting her go, a process he'd willed himself upon at the news of Jocelyn's forced marriage.

Alone in their tent, Christiana laid her head upon her husband's chest and her arm about his waist and enjoyed this quiet time before slumber. His fingers ran idly through her hair, his other hand covering hers.

She was proud of herself for weathering two weeks of marriage in a decent manner. So far, they'd had no real arguments and not raised their voices at each other. He'd been courteous and genial of mood. Well, save that jealous streak when Wat had appeared and now Will and Roland.

It did pain her to see Roland again, bringing back the memory of his words that night. Christiana struggled to remain impassive to his presence, giving the appearance that she'd moved on and could care less that he was there. She didn't care less, however. Seeing him brought a lump to her throat and she was glad to retreat from him into the tent with Adhemar.

"Which man was it?"

She rubbed her cheek along his skin, then raised up onto her elbow to look at him. His expression was closed, emotions under lock and key and Christiana sat all the way up. "Does it matter now?"

"It might. You certainly greeted the redhead with warmth."

For a long second, Christiana couldn't believe he was serious. Wat? He thought she and Wat.... "Wat? Wat's a friend, Damien, nothing more. It was Roland I had feelings for."

He released her hand to straighten the covers about their hips. "And now?" There was the slightest hesitation to the question, as though he didn't really want to know but felt he had to ask regardless.

She turned to sit with her back facing him, drawing her knees up and hugging them to her chest. "You have to ask? I told you what happened, told you how I coped...though coping wasn't what I was doing I guess." His hand slid along her back and she sat up a little straighter. "I cared for him and I'm not the kind of person who can toss away my feelings when I want to. I'll probably always care for Roland a little bit, but not like I did. I don't...." Breaking off, she turned again, resting on her knees. "I don't love him. You're my husband. I won't betray my vows."

He sat as well, sliding his arm about her waist and a hand at her neck. His fingers curved along the slender column, the strength in those digits very evident in his hold. His eyes searched hers and finally, his embrace relaxed, became warm and affectionate. "That's good to hear."

Leaning forward, Christiana wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her cheek on his right shoulder. Mouth close to his ear, she asked in a moment of bravery, "And what of you? Will you keep your vows?"

He drew back a little, head turning, lips feathering across hers in a light kiss. "A vow is a promise, Christiana." A mocking air crept into his next words. "And you know I keep those."

Rather than rise to his bait, Christiana let it go and soon, their conversation returned to less riling matters.

* * *

Roland was concentrating on his sewing, when he realized someone stood over him. Glancing up, a flat metallic taste filled his mouth. Adhemar. The man had his arms crossed, a surprisingly wary expression on those patrician features. "My lord?" The words were thick in his mouth and he had to force them out. 

"You have feelings for my wife." It wasn't a question. "Are you like your impetuous red haired friend, the sort who foolishly acts when he should remain still? I remember him from tournament. Strange to do so, yet I recall him clearly in a rage."

His first instinct was to defend Wat, his second to deny any thoughts of such action and yet, Roland couldn't deny those fleeting thoughts of whisking himself and Christiana back to a happier time. The will however. _That_ he could deny. Logically, there was no action to take this time. He'd lost Christiana that day he'd said those hateful things to her. He'd watched each word land upon her as a whip striking her flesh, seen her heart break before his eyes. She was Adhemar's now.

The Count tilted his head. "I think not." He answered his own question, gaze a penetrating weight that saw far more than Roland cared for. "You're the wise one, the man who weighs his actions carefully. Were you thinking to protect her somehow by sending her with Jocelyn?"

Roland remained still and silent, a mouse before a snake, paralyzed by that flat, glittering gaze. He couldn't move and nor did he want to. Moving would bring Adhemar's full attention to him and the last thing he wanted was to be under that one's regard.

"Perhaps you did protect her, only you could not have known how well at the time." A sigh. "Did you know that Jocelyn's father hated her? She wouldn't have been allowed to stay with you. He would have come for her and taken her home, believing she was with you because Jocelyn no longer wanted her. If she'd gone back there alone, the very part of her that makes her the lovely woman she is would have been destroyed. He meant to break her, though I've been unable to discover why." His fingers tapped on his arm. "You protected her by sending her away. She's freed of that family now. He can't touch her." Adhemar breathed in, seemed to shake himself from his mood and walked away, dismissing Roland without saying another word.

* * *

Will was torn. He desperately wanted to go after Kate and Wat and see this child that was his son. He also wanted to go back to Prince Edward and convince him to go home to his family. Then, he had a conflicting desire to finish the original task Marin set for him and ride to London to see the King and Duke John. 

Roland wanted to ride to London, finish their task and hightail it after Wat and Kate as quickly as they could before Edward realized Will had gone over his head.

He didn't know what to do and he hated being in Adhemar's camp and indebted to him for both Kate and the boy, Christopher. Adhemar wanted no words of thanks, however, nor did he want anything except Will to be on his way. He'd expressed no preference in what he thought Will should do and at that moment, when all was whirling around him in confusion, Will actually considered asking the older man for advice.

Wouldn't that throw Adhemar for a loop?

It made sense though, in a strange way. Adhemar was a soldier and he knew how these things went. Will was not a soldier, not really. He disliked battle and all that went with it, though he did dearly love the skills that went with the fighting. It was the loss of life from his own actions he hated to see.

He hunched over, arms crossed upon his knees and forced himself to turn his mind from the problem and onto another subject entirely. Like Christiana and Adhemar.

Roland had told him what Adhemar had said about Jocelyn's father and he realized that he himself had witnessed that hatred of Christiana the one time he'd met with the man. It hadn't seemed much at the time, only a few cross words towards her that any servant would have been used to. Knowing her true station however, the words became far more, malicious projectiles intent to belittle and scar and tear a person down.

Like it or not, Christiana was as safe as she could be with Damien Adhemar. He actually appeared to treasure her in some way. He kept her separated from Roland except when they were all in one big group, saving her from the anguish of a one-to-one conversation. Even in a group, he was with her constantly, his arm about her or hand holding hers, blatant ways to show she was his. Will had even seen the man kiss her in a tender fashion when he obviously thought no one was looking.

She looked to enjoy his company. There were no flinches when he touched her or grimaces at his attentions, nothing of the sort an unwilling wife might give. Christiana, Will decided, was willing in that marriage, however incomprehensible that might be to him and to Roland. If she hadn't been willing at any point to marry him and be his wife, she was certainly willing now, performing her duties as wife with the same determination and efficiency as she had the duties of maid.

Will sucked in a breath and found Christiana coming towards him. She sat down and watched him for a long moment and he wondered what she was about to propose. He didn't have long to wait.

Putting her hand upon his arm, she said, "Go after her, Will. Put loyalty to Kate before loyalty to Edward."

How in the good Lord was he going to explain this to her?

* * *

Tears were glistening in Will's eyes and Christiana gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "Go to Kate." 

"I can't. He's going mad, Christiana. We all saw it and none of us could do a thing to stop it. We all held on to our remembrances of him as a good man of noble character. He did so much for me with a few words. I can't just walk away from him, leave him in his madness."

"Kate did as much for you, if not more. She helped pick up the pieces after Jocelyn was made to leave."

He jerked his arm away. "Don't. Just...don't. You're not understanding me and perhaps it's because you're a woman."

Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. She'd never heard him speak like that before, as though women were stupid creatures. "Will."

"Men have a certain code," he began in explanation. "Soldiers especially. I can't honestly leave Edward's service now, not without jeopardizing his own decree. He sent an assassin after me and still I can't walk away."

She didn't understand, staring at him, her mind whirling furiously over his words.

Behind them came the delicate clearing of a throat and Adhemar came into their vision. He took a stick and poked the fire. Crouching down, he stared at them over the flickering flames. "Do you need it explained, Christiana?"

"Yes, I do. I don't understand what the problem is, Damien. Will should go to Kate, leave that mess and go." Beside her, Will took another hard breath.

Her husband sighed, gave a nod. "Edward is irrational now. You've heard of his actions, saw what he tried with Kate. He lied to Thatcher here, deliberately fueled the hatred between us with a lie. If he could reach his own ends by revoking that pretty title he bestowed, he would."

"He wouldn't!"

Will turned his head, his gaze very hard. "Don't be that naïve, Christiana. He's not the same man we both knew. He'll do what he has to and not see one thing wrong with it."

All she could do was gape at him. The hope that had always been there within him, that carefully cultivated spark, was guttering out under his sense of duty.

"I didn't come here to talk of the problem," Adhemar said, standing and tossing the stick on the fire. "I came to give a solution to your dilemma. An opinion really." His shrug was nonchalant. "If you're interested."

* * *

He knew Thatcher would be interested in a solution. 

He was not unsympathetic to Thatcher's problem, a strange feeling he had to admit. He'd been so used to hating the younger man, that to find himself sympathizing with his torn sensibilities was disconcerting to say the least. If ever he'd wished to have Thatcher completely under his thumb -- and he had -- that moment was now. There was a power in where they two were at this particular hour, yet he felt no thrill, no superiority in it.

How strange.

He watched the last of the boy slip away, a hardened man bursting free in a tide of bitterness and harsh responsibility. It saddened him a bit. That a man who'd beaten all odds to become what he wished could have that part of him destroyed gave him a pause. Not many men held such lofty ideals and few of those men actually achieved the high goals they set for themselves with their ideals intact.

Adhemar crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. He no longer wished to fight William Thatcher. The prize they'd both vied for was gone and there was nothing more between them. There was no rivalry remaining and he was left staring at a man who had somehow, along the way, become his equal. Incomprehensible. William Thatcher, formerly a peasant and now...equal. What had made him equal? It wasn't the title, nor was it his profession as soldier. No, that status had been achieved through many things too numerous to list. Thatcher had earned equality.

In Adhemar's mind, there was even a grudging admiration for him. A strange feeling, indeed, and one he actively disliked. Peasants were not supposed to raise their station unless they were of the wealthier middle class. The lowest did not surpass them. This man had though. He'd managed what none did, ever. There truly was something grudgingly admirable in that.

Thatcher gave him a long, hard stare, then a short nod. "I'm interested. Any idea is welcome at this point Adhemar. Even one from you."

"I'm honored. Really." He made himself comfortable on one of the camp chairs, stretching his long legs out and enjoying the warmth of the fire. "Your problem stems from not knowing what is really expected of you."

Christiana tucked her hair behind her ears. "No, Damien, the problem is --"

"Bear with me, Christiana. I do know what I'm talking about." She flinched a little at his tone, but he decided he'd make that up to her later, show her he wasn't angry with her. He simply wanted this to be done with and Thatcher to make his decision to be on his way -- whichever path he chose in the end. There was nothing more to it. Nothing.

Men drifted around them, going about their duties and Adhemar saw the man Roland at the edge of the firelight behind Christiana. Was he watching Christiana or simply listening to the conversation? Did it matter which?

"You fought in the tournaments. It was what you wanted and you defied the entirety of society to get what you wanted. You faced gaol and did so with the idea of holding your principles high for all to see. You said you were a knight and a knight does not run. It got you a title and the ear of Prince Edward. Now, you went into being a soldier out of loyalty to a friend, if I'm not mistaken, and a sense of loyalty to your country."

"Yes." A simple answer and nothing more forthcoming, so Adhemar continued.

"I am no such man. I'm a soldier primarily for what my services can bring for me. I switch sides as the money flows and there is a rather unflattering term for my sort of soldier."

Thatcher's lips twisted. "Mercenary."

Adhemar laughed. "Yes, but not the sort that rides with Edward these days. My kind do have some principles left. Few, yes, but some."

"I find that difficult to believe, Adhemar. Tipping a lance is hardly an honest thing."

"Not honest in the rules, no. Honest in emotion, however.... It was a very honest show of how I felt right then. I spoke of principles though, not honesty." His brows raised, daring Thatcher to argue. "But let us not become distracted, no?" He leaned forward, clasping his hands together loosely and resting his forearms upon his thighs. "There are places for both sorts of soldier in a war. Enough room for all. Your kind, though, is _not_ common. A man who will hold an ideal high in his mind and still be willing to make waves in the boat. That's where you are. You've made the waves and have to carry out what you started."

"I don't want to leave Kate until later. I love her."

He snorted, glanced away and then back. "You were given a title, Thatcher, and with that title comes a responsibility. A peasant man can pick up and go. Not my peasants, of course, but there are some, like you once were, who can run after a woman when their duty is what they _should_ be doing. You made a choice to be a nobleman, now make the choice to accept that responsibility and be the noble man you once made claim to being."

"You do what you wish," Thatcher argued, "so why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I go after Kate and let Edward hang himself?"

Adhemar glanced at Christiana. She was staring at him. Something in her expression made it clear that he'd inadvertently revealed something of himself to her that gave her an understanding of him she'd previously lacked. That light of comprehension was in her eyes. "Because that's not who you are. Kate is safe with your man Wat. Your son is safe with them and will be provided for. Therefore, Edward is your only concern. You consider him a friend..._William_. From what I've seen of you, your friends mean everything to you. You must finish your duty to your country and to a friend that is hurting. Simple."

Getting up, he left Thatcher there to consider his argument, unsurprised when Christiana followed him into their tent. "Don't," he warned her in a hard tone, pouring himself a goblet of spiced wine.

She ignored the warning, catching his arm and trying to move to see his face. He couldn't evade her forever, so he finally stood still and let her step fully in front of him. She slipped her hands up to his face, swept her thumbs softly along his cheekbones. "You're a good man when you want to be."

He avoided her gaze, looking everywhere but at her, the sensation of being off-kilter with reality settling over him. "I only want him gone, Christiana. I don't care which he chooses. The woman or his country, it makes no never mind to me, as long as he chooses and we can be on our way." The wine was set down without a sip taken from it. "Don't read more into my actions than there is."

Her lips curved in a tiny smile that held a gentle emotion behind it. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of it."

Taking her hands, he clasped them in his. "Don't mix me up with that man in your head. Again, I am not him."

That smile faded. "I won't."

"I'll admit that Thatcher is not what I once thought him, but that's as far as my admission goes. Whatever else I think of your friend Thatcher will go unexpressed. His ideals are commendable, his naïvety is not. The road he has left to travel will not be a kind one."

Christiana removed her hands from his, took up the cup he'd poured and sipped from it. Her stare was considering. When she spoke, her words were faltering. "You do sympathize with him though. I saw that on your face out there."

He rolled his shoulders, dropped onto their bed. "Would you believe that I was once torn in a similar way? I was very young, hardly more than a boy really, serving at a nobleman's home and learning those things all young men need to know. My ideals lasted only hours, Christiana. They were beaten from me and I learned that while ideals are pretty things in the light of day, they are quickly torn to shreds in the dark of night. I suffered consequences for my actions, choosing the safe path when I should have chosen service. I learned from that and it brought me where I am today."

She joined him, sitting beside him, her thigh pressed to his. Her gaze entreated him to go on, but Christiana had seen enough of him for one day and he didn't feel like sharing anything more. While she'd laid out everything of herself neatly in her journals, he wasn't so neat. She'd have to learn of him the old fashioned way or not at all.

"Thatcher must learn his lessons and they won't be easy ones."

"You called him 'William' out there, Damien."

He glanced at her and quickly turned away. "So I did."

Her fingers wound with his, her other hand clasping over their twined hands. "It was a trick, yes? A way to give him strength to make the decision he should? An..._illusion_ of being on equal footing?"

Her tone indicated that she knew differently. She knew he'd felt a kinship with Thatcher for a few seconds, but would not acknowledge it because he didn't want to acknowledge it. She was being a good wife again and a fondness for her swelled in his chest. Adhemar returned his gaze to her, squeezed her hand. "Of course. You're beginning to know me so well."

"I'm trying."

Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss.

The tantalizing smell of meat cooking over the fire drifted in and their quiet moment was cut short by Germaine's voice calling for them to come eat.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Eleven

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

* * *

The sun was poking through the trees, warming the clearing. They were taking a rest before continuing on to the fork in the road. There, they would possibly part company, perhaps for the final time. Will sat on a stool, making light conversation with Christiana when what he really wanted was to let loose the guard upon his tongue and ask her of the child, Christopher. The questions wouldn't budge from his throat, lodged there firmly and what words _did_ come out felt as though they were forced around a great huge boulder.

He glanced around. Roland was with the wagon and the horses. He'd declined to join Will, claiming he needed to sleep a few minutes. Will knew Roland stayed from Christiana's sight so as not to distress her. Not that she seemed particularly distressed. She barely appeared to notice Roland at all now.

Christiana nibbled on a piece of sweet bread, slender fingers pulling off bites of it and popping them into her mouth. Adhemar had brought her the bread, slipping the cloth wrapped piece onto her lap in an almost furtive movement that gave Will a twinge of amusement. Did the man really care if Will saw that gentle squeeze of Christiana's hand, or even witnessed the kiss to her temple that could easily be mistaken for a close conversation had Will not seen that press of lips to flesh?

Adhemar did not want Will to realize he cared for Christiana in some way. Will found that comforting. Christiana would be safe. The picture that was forming of those two was complicated and contradictory and even normal. Odd to consider Adhemar normal in any way. Will had become so used to thinking of him as extreme, that to consider Adhemar as ordinary was shocking. He was an ordinary man though, one with the usual desires of men and Will revised his opinion of Adhemar in slow degrees.

He still hated him, despised what he was as a whole. And yet.... And yet he saw a bit of himself in him. And a bit of Roland, Wat and Edward and every other man he knew. Adhemar, once human and unknown, then a craven monster, had made the switch back to fully human in Will's mind.

It was about time, too, Will decided. He couldn't spend eternity making Adhemar into a monster.

"He's beautiful," Christiana said suddenly, and he glanced up to see her watching him, longing in her eyes.

"He?" That look indicated a wanting of something more in her life. A child, he realized as she answered his question and then fully admitted her desire for a baby.

"Christopher. Your son." She swallowed hard and gave a little shrug and a toss of her head. "He's beautiful. I long for a child of my own now."

As he watched, her glance strayed to where her husband was negotiating with a merchant also stopped in that area. Adhemar was haggling the price of something. What it was, Will couldn't quite make out. Occasionally, Adhemar would hold up the object and scrutinize it, then argue the price a bit more. They'd been at it for long minutes. Will studied Christiana, let his gaze slide over her in relative safety. Adhemar was busy and wouldn't notice the scrutiny.

She was adult now, the manner of a girl behind her. She had put away childish things and stepped into adulthood. Will blinked. Christiana had changed so much since he'd last seen her, and all in her behavior. Always calm, she was more so. However, he'd glimpsed a spirit in her, a liveliness that had gone unnoticed before. Had it always been there, or had he been too distracted with Jocelyn to notice? Both, maybe?

The girl had become a woman in thought as well as body and she'd married the last man Will had expected her to be linked with. Adhemar. Again, it occurred to him that Adhemar seemed to treasure Christiana even if he tried to hide his affection from others. She, in turn, was everything a wife should be. Well, in public. Will didn't want know their private life.

No, he tilted his head to one side. That was a lie. He _did_ want to know. He had a burning desire to know how long Christiana had had such a close relationship with his nemesis. Was their closeness months coming, or a shorter time? "How long," Will began, then shook his head. "Never mind." Asking would cross the boundaries of friendship. By asking, he'd be far too forward with her.

"What? How long what?"

Will sighed and threw all caution aside, forging on with his question, whether it was a wise decision or not. "How long have you been...friendly with Adhemar?"

She stared at him. There was understanding of his question in her eyes and Will could see the very second displayed there when she decided to pretend she'd not understood him. Gradually, a smile slipped across her face and she laughed softly. "I had to learn to deal with him out of necessity. Jocelyn yielded nothing to him even after the point where she should have let the past go. She sent me and I," she paused, wrapping the last of her bread up in the cloth and setting it aside. "I learned to interact peacefully with him. I had to and when the day came that it was he and I alone without her, we still were peaceful." Her smile disappeared. "We became friends, I guess. An odd friendship for our shared and frustrating dealings with Jocelyn."

Will glanced away and back again, noticing Adhemar beginning to finish his business, counting coin into the merchant's hand. "You know what I'm asking."

Her head dipped. "Yes, and it's none of your business. You know I'd have done nothing to hurt Jocelyn or get in the way of her relationships. I helped her as much as I was able. My relationship with Damien was completely proper, Will. Circumstances of his doing brought me back into my station and I am his wife. That's all you need to know."

His cheeks burned. An apology slipped from him. "I apologize. I oughtn't of brought it up."

Christiana's posture relaxed, her shoulders slumping. "I'd have wanted to know the same," she admitted, a crooked tug to her lips. "Anyway, we were talking of Christopher. I hadn't wanted children of my own until I held him, cared for him. There are risks in giving birth, but I'd chance them gladly, as women have been doing since Eve."

The change of subject was welcome. "What's he like?"

"He's like any other baby. He cries, he giggles, he demands attention. He's curious and he reminds me of you though he's so small. He looks like Jocelyn. Christopher is sweet and endearing and I could go on day and night both. You'll meet him yourself, Will. You'll meet him when you find Kate, Wat and Anne."

Longing suddenly gripped him, filled up his chest and Will felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to hold this child she spoke of, but was very afraid that he'd never have the chance. Italy was a long way off and the road would not be easy.

Adhemar came to them and knelt before Christiana. His voice was cheerful. "I have bought you something."

Delight lit up her face. "What?"

Her anticipation of some trinket made Will think of Kate, his chest tightening. He'd always enjoyed giving Kate little presents. A ribbon for her hair. A bouquet of flowers. She'd always thanked him so sweetly....

"This is only a part of it," Adhemar remarked, setting what he had in his hand onto her lap. It was a small ink container. By her reaction, Will would have thought he'd given her precious gems instead of plain ink.

"There's more?" Her voice was breathless, happiness upon her face.

"You'll see the rest when we get to Anjou." He leaned close to her and Will stayed very still, straining to overhear the rest. "I promise."

"You tease me."

Adhemar's reply was too low to hear and Will took the opportunity to get up and find Roland. His friend wasn't asleep, but rather staring silently at the sky from his perch on the wagon.

"Well," Roland asked flatly. "Are we going?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Will nodded. "Yes."

It didn't take them long to prepare to leave Adhemar's group and, without saying any goodbyes, Will and Roland took their leave. Will refused to say goodbye. Someday, they'd see Christiana and even Adhemar again. He was certain of it. At the fork in the road, they paused...and continued along the route that would bear them to London.

* * *

The battle was done. The streets of Limoges were filled with the dead, stinking bodies left to rot in the sun. The rancid scent of blood was overpowering. The count was at two thousand and still there were more corpses to be added to that number. 

Prince Edward walked the street, insulated from the wailing of civilian survivors by the numbness that always overtook him during the latter part of his rage-state. He heard the cries, but didn't fully comprehend them yet. By the dawn of a new day, he knew the weight of his actions would hang heavy upon him, but right now, all he could do was look impassively at what his temper had accomplished.

Casualties weren't supposed to be numbered this many, and civilians even. These men and women and children had fought with whatever they'd had in their homes. So many dead. It was soldiers that were supposed to die in a war, not the people those soldiers were protecting.

Edward could only vaguely remember giving the order to sack the city, giving his men license to pillage and plunder, rape, kill and maim -- the very things he'd once disbanded Count Adhemar's Free Companies for. He turned his face up towards the heavens, taking note of the clouds that gathered above them, dark clouds that were a portend of rain to come soon.

"Marin," he called out. Months before, he'd told William Thatcher that they were both trying to hide who they were and unable to do so. He could no longer hide his nature, that was becoming clear. The violence inside him was breaking free and he couldn't control it without help. He had to ask for the help he needed. Too long he'd struggled on his own. A spasm of fear gripped him.

What have I done?

In his mind's eye, he saw himself attacking Kate, betraying the trust Will had in him. He saw himself slaughtering the people here long after the point he should have stopped. He saw.... He saw himself, a man tormented and no longer what he once was. Edward wanted dignity in the end. He wanted to be the sort of man who left willingly, who went searching for the help he needed. There were two ways before him now. He could take a coward's way or the honorable way and Prince Edward only knew one course of action. There was no shame in conceding that he couldn't deal with this alone.

"My lord," Marin asked, stepping beside him and having obvious difficulty keeping his features from showing his disgust at the smell of the city.

Edward turned to face him. "Send for my brother. Then send a letter to my wife. I need to go home. I need to return to England."

Marin nodded and left.

Edward took a deep breath, let himself smell the blood and the death, then retreated from the city and to his tent, where he sat for a long while alone.

* * *

Will and Roland's journey was coming to an end. Adhemar had suggested that Will do his duty and Will had come to realize that this was the right path after all. 

London was only a few miles down the road.

Beside him, Roland heaved an exhausted sigh, one he fully sympathized with. They still had much to do before going after Kate and Wat and he hoped that those two would understand why Will had to do this. He couldn't let Edward wallow in illness without taking whatever action he could. He had that letter to Duke John and would try and see him as soon as he could. They'd cross the river, seek out lodgings for the night and try in the morning.

"Halt."

The voice was loud and Will looked around, stopping his mount and calling for Roland to stop as well. They remained where they were, attempting to see the owner of that imperious voice. "Who demands we halt on our travel," he called out. "Name yourself."

"I call you to halt in the name of John, Duke of Lancaster, brother of Prince Edward."

Will dismounted, finally locating the speaker standing a ways up by the side of the road, half hidden in a grouping of trees and bushes. "We've business with the Duke. Kindly lead us to his camp."

It took long minutes of calling back and forth before they were allowed to go forward. Just down the road, on the banks of the river, a number of men were gathered, readying to continue onward. The ferry was being used only for them, travelers pressed to wait in a clearing until all the men had crossed. Will was given an audience with the Duke and once his reasons for coming to London were reported, he was asked to join the party in retrieving Prince Edward and his family. Reports of Edward's behavior had reached London, both his father and John alarmed. The decision to bring Edward back to England had been made and John was going on that task.

Will found himself riding with the man, answering his questions and giving counsel on how to deal with the volatile Edward. He had little time to even think of Kate, Wat and the baby.

* * *

There was no one time of day that Kate missed Will the most. Thoughts of him were a constant in her mind and she felt her heart would burst completely from the wanting of his arms around her. At times the ache was so intense that all she could do was cry. Unfortunately, her longings weren't improved by the budding romance she saw blossoming between Wat and Anne. A glance at them caused pain anew. 

To be fair, they tried to keep from being obvious. Tried. How could Kate miss their whispers in the dark, or their flirting as they rode? Or what of that assumption of the monks they'd made traveling arrangements with? The good monks had decided that Wat and Anne were married and that Kate was a new widow with a baby. She mourned, the monks maintained, so she had to be a widow weathering the loss of a beloved spouse.

I may as well be, she thought, turning her head on the bundle she was using as a pillow.

Anne and Wat were by the fire, sitting side by side on a log, with Christopher snuggled in Anne's arms. As Kate watched, Wat slid his hand along Anne's back in a slow, gentle caress.

Kate closed her eyes and tried not to cry.

* * *

The household was packed and waiting. Edward strode along corridors that were strangely still and bare to his mind. There was a pall over the house and he could not find Joan. He'd been all over and every person gave him a different destination, no two seeming to know where she was with a certainty. 

He found her in the garden, sitting in the cool evening air and looking at the dead flowers. She looked up as he approached, no welcoming smile upon her lips this time. Her hand raised, beckoned him to join her on the bench. Edward went and struggled to find the words to confess his deeds to his lady. He had no idea how to begin, for just looking at her sweet face caused guilt to rise inside him.

Joan turned her head, a reddish blond curl slipping from its place to brush at her temple. She motioned to the garden and sighed. "It all ends, doesn't it, Edward? When the seasons turn, everything changes. The old dies out, goes away and cold descends." Her voice was soft and sad.

"That it does."

Now she smiled, hand patting his thigh. "But then something new grows up and matures out of that cold. It's like that with man. In the darkest times of our lives, there can be such hope that begins." Her expression was frank. "Your illness is more than it first looked, isn't it?"

Edward nodded, emotion clogging his throat so that he had to cough to clear it. "Joan... I've hurt people --" She looked away and he turned on the bench, hands raising to make her look back at him. "Please listen to me. I have to tell you. I have to confess it all."

"No, you don't," she replied, shaking her head. "Whatever you've done, I will forgive you. I'll forgive because you're my husband, the man I love over all else. You're sorry for whatever it was, I can see that on your face. We're leaving, Edward. We go home and start again."

He could leave it there, leave it all unsaid and be forgiven like that. It was cowardly though and he couldn't retreat now. She didn't want to speak of it, but he had to. He couldn't not tell her. "I lied to a good man. I framed another for a crime that was mine and I hurt a woman out of a lustful heart. I had civilians killed who were doing nothing more than defending themselves after the army protecting them was defeated. I have become a loathsome man."

Her hands threaded in his hair and she gently drew his head to her breast. Edward wrapped his arms about her and breathed in that sweet fragrance she adored to wear. He closed his eyes and let the tears come as his wife held him tight to her in a comforting embrace.

His confession might have ended there, if a large group of men bearing both his brother and William Thatcher in their midst had not arrived as they were making final plans for the trip. When Sir Thatcher requested a private audience with him, he couldn't refuse.

"I know what you did," were the first words he heard. There was a weariness, a heaviness, on Will's face that dropped Edward's already low mood another few inches.

He was responsible for it. That pounded home to him, as hard as the striking blow of an opponent's lance. He'd been less than honorable to this man who'd been so honorable to him. Kate was safe, Will had explained, and he'd escort Edward home to London and then be quit of England. He had another destination in mind, one that didn't include English royalty, and he was looking forward to making a life with Kate. His travels had been long, but he'd undertaken them willingly with the thought of helping his Prince.

Edward could not fault Will's conduct. He couldn't say Will had behaved wrongly, because he hadn't. Will had behaved in the manner Edward had expected from him: honorable. That was Will, the very sum of the man. He had more honor than any Edward had ever known and he had to try hard not to weep before him.

"I can only beg your forgiveness, Will. I won't give excuses, for I have none."

Will's eyes were hard, but not so much so that his hurt didn't show. "You encouraged me. You gave me hope in my darkest hour and I can't not do the same. When I was in the stocks, you set me free, and now, it's my turn. I'll help you home and then I'll go."

"Agreed. I won't impede your travels and to show you my intention is true, I'll have Marin draw up a document releasing you from any obligation in my army. My last act as leader of this army."

"Thank you."

He lowered his gaze. "Tell Kate.... Tell her I'm sorry." Edward meant his words. He _was_ sorry. One hand pressed against the pouch tied to his belt. The scrap of cloth from Kate's dress weighed heavily there, a trick of his mind he was certain, but he couldn't find it inside him to admit to keeping that scrap. He couldn't let loose of that last shameful thing. He couldn't watch Will lose the last shred of respect for him.

Where was the harm, his mind argued, in keeping a reminder of what should not have occurred? Where was the harm?

One look at Will's face told him there was harm aplenty and still he could not admit to that scrap of fragile cloth.

* * *

It was a strange sight to see Princess Joan sitting among the dead plants in the garden, her body slumped and face buried in her hands. She was crying, her sobs soft and low and Roland stood silently to the entrance of that private area, wondering how to leave without letting her know he'd chanced upon her emotional pain. A step in any direction would make a noise and he was surprised she'd not heard him approach. 

He vaguely remembered seeing her up close in London, when she'd joined Edward to watch Will's match with Adhemar. The only reason he'd gotten close enough to see her clearly was of Christiana. He'd gone to Christiana, hugged her and found the Princess watching them with a gentle smile. Roland doubted Princess Joan would remember him or recognize him as that man she'd glimpsed.

She raised her head and it was too late to move away.

"I'm sorry, my lady, I didn't mean to intrude --"

Joan stood, wiping her eyes quickly. "No harm done. We all give in to our grief at one time or another. I'd ask that you not banter my lapse about please."

"I'd not think of it." And he wouldn't. This woman was entitled to any moments of grief she indulged herself in.

She crossed the path to him, noticing the crest sewed onto his jacket with raised brows. "You're with Sir Thatcher." It wasn't a question.

"I am, my lady."

"I see." She crossed her arms over her chest and took a few steps along the path back into the garden. "Walk with me."

Roland glanced about, searching for the presence of others. He was hesitant to be seen alone with her. No sense in adding to their troubles, was there? With no one present, he could be accused of improper conduct with the Princess.

Joan waved a hand to her left. "My ladies are present, scattered behind the walls. I have only an illusion of privacy, not the real thing. Ladies, show yourselves a moment."

From various places, he saw several women peer at them, and Roland's shoulders relaxed. She had adeptly interpreted his reluctance.

"I wish to ask you about my husband. He's written often of Sir Thatcher's integrity and I assume Sir Thatcher keeps men of similar character at his side?"

She wanted to know of Edward? What could he possibly tell her that hadn't been told already? Roland's mind whirled in an attempt to make sense of this beginning to her inquiries. "Yes, my...lord keeps good men with him."

Joan's smile was quick, the evidence of her tears fading from her cheeks, though her eyes still looked red and swollen. "I'm aware that you and the red haired man are his friends, not servants. The three of you work well together I've been told. And so, I come to my reason for this walk. I wish you to answer me honestly on things I've heard since Edward has come home from war. You will be honest...." She glanced at him. "How should I call you?"

"Roland, my lady. I'll be honest with you." As they walked, her ladies began to gather behind them until Roland thought they looked like a trail of ants weaving about the garden.

"Swear it. Swear it on your life."

Her gaze was hard and cool and Roland saw a strength within her that reminded him of Kate's iron will. "I swear," he said simply.

"Questions have come to my mind, Roland, and I don't trust my husband's men to give me straight answers. Their loyalty is only to him. So many of them are dependant upon his good will that they won't tell me what I need for fear of angering him. Your Sir Will has already defied him and I'm fully aware of those plans to leave England for good. You, I feel, will be straight with me. Yes?"

He gave a single nod, wondering if she was ever going to get on with her questions.

"When exactly did he first begin changing? I cannot pinpoint it on my own well enough to my liking."

"There was a battle sometime before the tournament season when he was injured, a head wound."

"I knew of the wound. They thought he was dying for a long while."

"Well, it was after that he began to exhibit changes in behavior. This comes from what others have said. I wasn't there at the time."

"I never noticed anything different about him, although," she paused in her steps, frowning. Her hands twisted in the fabric of her skirts. "I did think him horribly preoccupied in London. It was as though he was trying too hard to be himself. Exuberant behavior when Sir Thatcher won, his ongoing mood at the banquet that night. He was himself and yet he was not, but I didn't see enough of him to notice a full difference. He kept himself closeted with his advisors working on that war."

He waited for what would come next.

"He told me..." She trailed off, paused and began again. "He told me that he hurt a woman, so I assume that means he forced her to his bed. This woman he hurt, who was she? Do I know her?"

Roland ducked his head, closing his eyes briefly. "My lady --"

"You swore. Answer me." When he remained silent, her hand lashed out, gripping his arm, nails digging in, a pain even through the cloth of his shirt and coat. "Tell me."

"You met her, though I don't know if you'd remember her."

"What was her name? Her station?"

The need to know was there in her eyes. Did he tell her, or try to distract her? Roland chose distraction. "He didn't succeed in hurting her in the manner he wanted at the time. She was rescued. Does it matter what her name is, or even if she's noble or no? It's done and he's confessed it to you. He's come home to you. Do you need the details, my lady?"

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she blinked fast. "Why, Roland? Why did my husband do it?" She released him, glanced back at her ladies, who all pretended to be looking elsewhere.

"He's sick, my lady. There is an illness inside him."

"Where did the man I love go?"

Roland shrugged. "Nowhere. He's still there, my lady."

Returning her regard to him, she perused his face for a long moment, then nodded. "I know and that makes this so much more difficult to grasp. Thank you, Roland. Greetings to Sir Thatcher from me."

He watched her walk away, uncertain really what had just occurred. Had he said what she needed to hear, given comfort in some way or given her more to consider? Turning, he left the garden.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Twelve

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: It has come to my attention that I have erred with naming. Many thanks to the reviewer who pointed this out to me. However, the names in this work will remain and later works will reflect the new information.

* * *

The rest of the trip to Anjou was uneventful and for that, Adhemar was grateful. He'd had enough excitement for awhile and was ready to settle home with Christiana and take care of business matters. He wondered if his mother would be waiting for them and decided she would be. At the first sign of riders, Marian would be watching to see who they were. 

As he'd predicted to himself, she was waiting in the Great Hall, pacing before the fire. Christiana managed to hiss, "I thought she was in Aquitaine," before he put an arm about her, urging her forward and not answering her. The look of panic on Christiana's face was faintly amusing. He probably should have told her Marian would be there, but it hadn't seemed important when he'd informed Christiana of their traveling plans.

Marian strode briskly across the hall to them, hope upon her face. She fairly beamed at them, cocking her head as though waiting for either of them to say something. A frown formed at their silence and she slowly reached out, grasped the edges of Christiana's cloak and tossed them to the sides, revealing Christiana in a gown and surcoat the had once been Jocelyn's. Her scrutiny fell to Christiana's stomach.

A laugh built in his chest and he swallowed it, amused at what she obviously thought. Christiana turned a perplexed stare towards him, her lips formed in a silent 'o'. He shrugged in answer.

Marian released the cloak, patted Christiana's stomach none too gently, then sighed, her hope disappearing and disgust turning her lips. Her sidelong glance at him was chiding. "And here I'd thought you'd wed her because you got her pregnant. Your invitation to witness the nuptials was strangely reserved, so naturally I thought you'd sampled the goods. I fully expected to find her belly rounding out upon your arrival. Do your duty already, I'm not getting any younger. A grandchild from you would be nice." She returned her attention, now quite critical, to Christiana. "Hurry it up, girl."

"Madame," Christiana began, her cheeks prettily flushed. "I can hardly wish myself into that state."

Stepping back, Marian crossed her arms. "I see." The frown returned, her voice thoughtful and Adhemar had a sudden realization of where this conversation was heading. Marian assumed much that she should not. He had to stop her. The last thing he wanted to do was stand before all in the Great Hall discussing _this_ with his mother.

"We're tired, mother," he started only to be cut off.

"Good," Marian said. She raised a hand, beckoning to a servant by the stairs. "Fatigue means bed and bed...." A revoltingly coy chuckle came from her lips.

Christiana gave a peculiar choking cough and bowed her head, her hair falling over her face, effectively shielding her expression.

Marian held up one finger. "Just let me whip up a potion for Christiana."

He pretended to consider it, then shook his head. "No."

"It will only take a minute."

"No."

"Sometimes nature needs a push, my son."

"We've not been wed long enough, mother."

"And that means what exactly?" Marian rattled off a list of herbs to the servant and sent him running out of the room on his errand.

"It means we've not had enough time to get on with the business of children." This was hissed at her through clenched teeth. The hall had fallen silent enough for the words to carry and he felt Christiana begin to shake in the circle of his arm. Laughter? Or tears?

That stopped Marian. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, a confused glint in her eyes. She stared at him, then Christiana and back at him. "You mean when Jocelyn died you didn't...?" It didn't take long for what he was saying to sink in. Her expression mournful now, Marian sighed as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. "You really didn't...? But you were always the one son who wasn't.... Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me, Damien. I'll make the potion anyway. Nature will get a push whether nature likes it or not."

Marian didn't waste any more words on Christiana, turning and following the path the servant had taken.

Adhemar looked about the hall, but didn't see his brother waiting. Just as well. He didn't particularly want to speak with that one right now. A few orders and he was leading Christiana up to the chambers that were theirs.

* * *

Christiana managed to wait until he'd closed the door to their chamber before letting loose her amusement. She'd not thought Marian a source of humor before. Now though, she could see the woman in a different light. 

She could imagine that Marian was exceedingly confused right about now. Had Damien seduced all the girls growing up? Had Marian wished year after year for one of those girls to birth a child, even a girl child? With her behavior just now, Christiana realized that Marian was desperate for Damien to produce an heir. How confusing for her to find that her wild child son had done one respectable thing -- he'd not seduced Christiana on Jocelyn's deathbed.

That was what Marian thought he'd do. She'd thought he'd seduced Christiana, gotten her pregnant, then married her upon finding that she was actually noble and that there was a baby on the way. It was so obvious in what she'd said.

She removed her cloak, smiling wider at the sour look her husband flashed her. "She's not how I remember her."

"No," he snorted. "She's worse. My own mother considers me of low character."

Christiana perused the chamber appreciatively, noting the empty area for the bed and wondering how soon until their wagons arrived with the household goods. They were going to have to sleep on the much smaller traveling bed used in their tent for awhile at least. "She has no illusions of you. There's a difference."

"Oh really?"

"Really." Christiana leaned out the window a moment, then looked over her shoulder at him. "She knows who and what you are. Many mothers hold illusions of their offspring and cannot see them for the flawed beings we all are. You are real to her."

He came to her, leaned against the wall beside her, arms and ankles crossed. "What of you? Am I real to you now?"

He would not let her forget her flights of fancy, constantly bringing them up and she felt heat return to her cheeks and spread down her throat and chest. "You know you are."

"Do I?"

"Yes." She returned her gaze out the window. "You didn't tell me she was here."

"I didn't think it particularly important." He left his place beside her, went behind her instead, his hands lifting her hair and settling the mass of it over her shoulders. After a moment, Christiana felt his lips at her neck, his hands on her waist. "I let her go where she pleases and she stays out of my business for the most part. In fact, she aids me, like this mess here."

Tilting her head a little to give him better access, Christiana, clasped his hands in hers and brought them around to her stomach. "I wish I'd known earlier."

"You can wish all you like, but that won't make it true."

There was a knock on the door, the panel opening and slamming against the wall with a bang before they could answer. Adhemar didn't pause in his kissing of her neck, making it difficult for Christiana to turn and see who was there. She finally gave up trying.

"Well, _brother_," came an oily voice from the doorway, "I see you've wasted no time kicking me from my home on a whim."

Now, he paused, but only for a moment, turning her so he could kiss her neck and still see the man in the doorway. "_My_ home, Cheney. This is my home."

"Why come back now? Why not stay down there? Mother is being close-mouthed again. She refuses to tell me anything except to 'prepare for Damien's arrival'." He said the final words in a falsetto that neatly mimicked Marian.

Christiana remained silent. Cheney was smaller than his brother, shorter and wiry in the same way Wat was. His hair had not one curl to it and his ire at Adhemar was blinding in intensity. This was no gentle sibling rivalry, but rather one that could easily cause a war. Her husband's hands tightened beneath hers, evidence that he was not as unaffected as he seemed.

"The Steward, Cheney. Think about the power you gave the Steward. When you've properly digested everything there and considered how little supervision you gave him, then return and we'll discuss why I'm here." He gave an impatient sigh, releasing Christiana from his embrace. "Until that point however, get the hell out of my chamber." In several quick strides, he was at the doorway, shoving his brother from the opening and closing and barring the door.

Ignoring the pounding upon the barred panel, he cleared his throat. "And now, would you like the rest of your present?" His head tilted in question and Christiana gave a nod.

"Of course." The ink had given her a large clue as to what he had for her. She was not to be disappointed. From the bundle set by the door, he lifted a slim stack of pages. She tried not to think of how much those pages must have set him back, then allowed herself to reflect upon the fact. He was wealthy yes, but deliberated carefully over expenses, weighing costs before opening his purse. This was a thoughtful and wondrous gift to receive from him. It showed her that he cared on a deeper level for her comfort than she'd initially thought.

"There are fifteen pages, all empty. Your new wardrobe shall have to wait to be completed unless you tackle most of the task yourself. I somehow thought you'd prefer the pages to the clothes. If I was wrong," he set them in her hands, "we'll sell the paper for a profit --"

"No," she hurried to assure him. "I prefer these. I have all those clothes I salvaged from Jocelyn's wardrobe and I can wait for a new dress or two."

"I'm not that destitute, Christiana." A wry half-smile made a brief appearance upon his lips. "I believe you can have a new dress and a few fripperies to go with it. That won't hurt the coffers."

"I can sew it myself and do the trimmings."

His eyes narrowed and lips pursed. He appeared to be thinking about that idea, then shook his head. "No. This once you shall not sew it yourself, nor do the trimmings. I've other tasks in mind for you and don't need your time taken up with that task."

Christiana slid one hand along the top page, enjoying the feel of the paper beneath her fingertips. When Jocelyn had given her the gift of that journal, she'd saved up her money to pay for it. Jocelyn had shown restraint in her personal purchases for well over a year before presenting the gift, something Christiana had thought odd at the time. Jocelyn had never been particularly known for her restraint with merchant's wares. Christiana recalled that day.

She woke to someone shaking her rather energetically, finding Jocelyn precariously perched on the edge of her small bed, a cloth wrapped bundle held in one arm. Even through the morning's waking fog, Christiana could tell Jocelyn was greatly excited over something. She blinked, rubbed at her eyes and sat up.

"I should be waking you, not the other way around."

The bundle was thrust at her, Jocelyn unable to keep her grin from forming. Her eyes fairly danced with her enthusiasm. "Open this. I can't wait until later. Open it now."

"Open what," Christiana was curious as to what Jocelyn had gotten for her. It was too hard for clothing and she supposed an object could be encased in a box, for she felt a hardness under the cloth wrapping. Christiana shook the bundle, not feeling or hearing anything rattle.

"Don't tease about it. Open it now. I've saved and saved and I can't wait even if you can." Again, Jocelyn pushed the bundle at her.

Christiana indulged her, a glimmer of excitement in her veins as well. This was a milestone for her, a full fifteen years with Jocelyn's family and Jocelyn was making it into a celebration. The ribbon -- actually one of those long trailing scarves Jocelyn adored -- was unknotted and laid aside. Then, she took hold of the cloth edges and opened them. In the cloth, was a small, slim book.

Frowning, Christiana opened it up. The first page had words written in Jocelyn's hand.

'For Christiana. My dear friend. Love, Jocelyn.'

The rest of the pages were blank. Tears came to her eyes and she could not hold them back. This was a gift far too precious for the likes of her. If Jocelyn's father knew the expense Jocelyn had gone to to give her this gift, he'd thrash her soundly and deny the upcoming trip to the tournaments. "Jocelyn, I can't accept this. It's too expensive."

Some of the pleasure dimmed from Jocelyn's eyes. "It's my money to spend as I wish. Father said so. I've saved for this gift for a long time, ever since I first saw how much you enjoyed writing letters and such. I wasn't even certain I'd be able to have the pages bound for you. I almost had to give you loose pages. Don't say you can't accept it. You can. You will."

"Your father --"

Jocelyn got up from the bed's edge, shaking her head. "My father doesn't have to know. It's **my** gift to **you**. He has nothing to do with it."

"He would punish us both for the expense."

A mischievous smile curved her lips. "What father doesn't know won't hurt him at all. Keep it in your trunk at all times, except when you're writing in it. He'll never know." She knelt at the bedside. "You are my maid, my friend, my confidante and my sister. I love you dearly. Now get up and let us be about our planning!" She laughed. "The tournament will be here in a week and we have so much to do before then. I want us both to be at our best. We must outshine all the other maidens." Mischief displayed upon her features in full now. "Not a particularly difficult task for us two, I must say."

Christiana lifted the book to her face, sniffed it. She smelled the cover, enjoyed the scent of it and the paper in encased. This was a gift she was planning on treasuring. Already, she was determined to write as small as humanly possible to make it last. A few lines every day would be best, nothing too long. Just enough to record the day without going into tedious detail.

"Father wants me to find a husband," Jocelyn said, standing and crossing her arms. She pursed her lips. "I wonder if there'll be any men there with the gift of poetry? I'd count myself blessed to find just one who can talk to me in such speech."

"You'll find several, I expect," Christiana remarked, getting from her bed and moving to her trunk. "I've a good feeling about these tournaments."

If Jocelyn had not given her that journal, she would not have written of her longings for this man and he would not have known her thoughts. Where then would she be now?

"Christiana?"

She felt his fingers beneath her chin, raising it a fraction. "Hmm?"

"You were far away."

She blinked, smiled as sweetly as she could and raised up on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Thank you. This gift...."

His fingers moved and only then, when he brushed them across her cheek, did she realize she'd been crying. "No tears, Christiana. It's only a gift."

"It was thoughtful though."

For a moment, she thought he might take her into his arms, but he only shrugged and turned away, shoulders shifting as though he was uncomfortable. "It took little thought to know what you'd like. You're easy to understand sometimes." He strode to the door, lifted the bar and was gone.

Christiana remained where she was, holding the gift and treasuring what it meant. He was coming to love her in his own way, even if he denied that he could love.

* * *

The fact of the matter was not that Cheney hated his brother. Oh no, Cheney loved his brother, he simply hated that Damien had everything while he had to settle for the leavings. The eldest got the title, the control of the finances and basically everything, while the younger brothers received nothing. They, like any girls born into a family, were at the whim of the one in control. 

That was what Cheney hated. And so, he'd concocted a scheme to take some control from Damien. What was the harm in padding the accounts? It wasn't like anyone looked at them besides him and Ansel to begin with. But then Marian had come, dear sweet mother whose one annoying trait was her tendency to meddle where she shouldn't. Cheney should have figured that she'd go looking in the accounts. It hadn't ever occurred to him that she could read though. He'd never seen her read, nor write her own letters. He'd assumed she couldn't do either.

Well, he thought sourly, look what happens when you assume. Big brother comes riding in to take back the home and finances.

He considered Damien at that. It had been a long time since they'd been face to face and secretly, Cheney had hoped that Damien would get himself killed and then he, Cheney, could step in with full control. Luck was with his brother and even that fall in the joust with William Thatcher hadn't done more than put a bit of a limp in his leg. Not that it was obvious he limped.

How did Damien get two beautiful brides in such a short amount of time? For that matter, how had he gotten beautiful women throughout his life? Cheney didn't think Damien was any better looking than he or of better disposition. To his thinking, Damien's disposition left much to be desired. Women seemed to like him. Puzzling. This latest woman, Christiana was a beauty like all the rest. She was too quiet however, preferring to sit back and let everyone else talk around her.

Cheney preferred a woman that took initiative. He preferred....

He stopped the pacing he was engaged in, the glimmer of a plot beginning in his mind. How wonderful it would be to strip the money from Damien and take his bride as well! The shy ones were easier to sway than the bold ones and after living with his brother, Christiana could probably use some kindness and consideration.

He set himself to fleshing out the idea and by the time Ansel came to him in a panic about the upcoming meeting with Damien, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

* * *

Germaine counted the hours as they all waited for the household to catch up with them. He was on short duties these days, something his lord had insisted upon. He'd been ordered to take the time to finish the grieving process. Well, he'd tried that and decided emotions couldn't be ordered like that. Closure would have to come in it's own time. And so, he set about using his many free hours to informally protect Christiana. 

His lord didn't say anything to lead him to believe that Christiana was in any danger, but Germaine wanted something to do and this was what he could think of since herald duties had been temporarily turned over to another. He followed her far more discreetly than he ever had, carefully watching those she had interactions with.

He was following her now, still smiling a bit from her latest interaction with the lady Marian. Marian kept trying to slip Christiana strange concoctions guaranteed to bring about a pregnancy and Christiana kept avoiding those drinks, artfully dumping them out in the nearest receptacle without Marian noticing. She'd not been able to toss out this latest one, Marian standing there beside her, insisting she drink it right at that moment. The grimace on Christiana's face had been comical and he'd bitten his lip to keep from laughing aloud.

She managed not to gag until well out of Marian's hearing, coughing and making noises of disgust, then continuing on her way. She toured the manor daily, stopping to talk with servants and any guests who were there and even pausing to play with some of the young girls Marian was training up as ladies.

She was nearing the end of her daily tour when Cheney appeared, Germaine hastening to keep himself hidden from them both. He didn't like Cheney and never had. The man had never paused in tormenting him when they were all children. He'd taken all of his frustrations with Damien out on Germaine. Naturally, there was dislike.

Cheney caught her arm, keeping Christiana from passing him. "A moment, my lady."

"Of course," came Christiana's cautious reply.

"I fear I must apologize for my behavior the other day. My brother angers me at times and I was hasty. I should have come to him in private."

Cheney apologizing? What was the world coming to? Germaine didn't think he'd ever heard that word come from Cheney's lips except in the case where Cheney thought someone else had to do the apologizing.

"Think nothing of it," Christiana said. "I did."

There was a moment of silence, as though Cheney was trying to figure out what Christiana meant. Did she really not think a thing about that interruption the entire household knew of? Or was she giving an insult, implying Cheney's interruption was not important enough to consider? Germaine could practically hear Cheney working through the thoughts.

"I wouldn't want to distress you, my lady."

Christian's laugh was tinkling and greatly amused. "It takes much more than that to distress me. Trust me on that."

"Well, if I ever manage to distress you, my lady -- my _sister_ --, then I'd be the worst of scoundrels. Call me on it immediately and I'll hasten to...atone."

He could picture Cheney smiling warmly and Christiana's amusement fading at the blatant flirtation.

"There's no need. Now if you'll please excuse me, I have duties to attend."

He waited until Cheney had gone and hurried to catch up to her. She was waiting around the corner, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed and a worried expression upon her face. Somehow, Germaine wasn't surprised that she wasn't surprised to see him.

"I'm not a siren to have men falling over me," She began. "Did my husband ask you to watch over me again?"

"No." He admitted it with a quick shake of his head.

Christiana gestured in the direction Cheney had gone. "He worries me. Once, I told you to stay away from me. Do you remember that?" Her gaze shifted to his, solemn with a bit of fear laced within.

"Yes, I do."

A sigh left her. "With him about, I rescind that request."

Germaine bowed. "Understood."

Her lips turned up in what may have been a smile, yet never reached that stage of development. Without adding to the brief conversation, she turned and walked towards the stairs.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Thirteen

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

* * *

Marian had reached a place in her life where she simply didn't know what to do next. Strange to find herself there when she'd always known exactly where she wanted her life to go. She'd known from an early age who she was supposed to marry and why and had never seen anything wrong with taking that path. She'd embraced it, leaving a house of nine children to become a wife and mother. 

Damien had been born one year after the wedding and eight more children after him. Five had lived to adulthood and she counted herself blessed for those five even if she couldn't stand one of them. She loved her children without one doubt, but Marian didn't always like them. Cheney for instance. He'd given her far more trouble than Damien had over the years. Cheney seemed to have a sense of inferiority beside Damien, always -- as far as she could remember -- competing against him in every area.

If Damien did well at archery, Cheney struggled to surpass him and so on. Perhaps it might not have gotten as bad as it was if Damien had _noticed_ the rivalry. He'd been blind to Cheney's ambitions though and Marian had let him remain blind, preferring to let her children make their own mistakes.

Now, however, she was seeing the error of that way of thinking. Cheney was actively trying to take Damien's birthright. He had his fingers in the finances and had brought in servants loyal only to him. He bribed the Steward and was following Christiana about as though she was Venus come to earth. It was a credit to the girl that she didn't turn about and give him a whack upside the head. Marian was sorely tempted to do precisely that. What use would that do when he liked to hit? She might find herself victim to his fists. It was not unheard of for a mother to be beaten by a son.

Yes, she knew far more about her children than they realized. She knew Damien was not all sweetness and light. He never had been, even as a child. He was demanding and exacting and extremely spoiled. His father had doted upon him and, by extension, her as well. To bear a son straight away was a wondrous thing for a wife to do. She'd basked in approval and they both let Damien have his way more often then they should have.

As for Cheney, he'd been the second son. He was spoiled as well. Two sons! Marian had been considered nearly an angel. When the third came, they'd held a week-long celebration in this very house. Spoiled children, all of them. It was strange to her that only one had turned out so.... She hunted for the proper word to describe Cheney and could only think of one: bad. Cheney was not a nice man. He'd ceased being nice a long time ago.

He liked to slap his women about. Marian still remembered the first time she'd become aware of Cheney's favorite pastime. Her maid had been late in waking her and when she did come, her face was swollen and bruised and she moved as though everything hurt. That wasn't far off the mark, she'd been coaxed to reveal. Marian had cut through her reluctance and discovered that she'd met with Cheney the previous evening.

A young and somewhat starry eyed girl, Rose had hoped for romance. He'd not lived up to her expectations. Marian had quietly paid her an extra sum and sent her back to her home to heal. When Marian confronted him about his abuse of a perfectly good servant girl, he'd given her false apologies and ingratiating smiles. Entreaties for him to not mark them up so they couldn't perform their duties as expected fell on deaf ears. He'd assured her he'd be more careful.

Something had to be done and soon. With Christiana still not pregnant, Damien didn't realize how precarious his own position was. She couldn't simply _tell_ him however. He tolerated her advice, pretending to listen and doing what he pleased in the end without ever really hearing her at all. If she tried to tell him, he wouldn't hear her.

And so, all of this led her to Christiana.

She knew he did value Christiana's counsel. He talked with her and shared things with her. If anyone could get through his thick skull, it would be his wife.

Marian peered through the open doorway, watching Christiana as she made lotions and creams with Annelle. The two women had formed a friendship, Germaine's wife grateful for something Christiana had done for her weeks earlier. Marian didn't know what that something was, nor did she particularly care. Clearing her throat, she stepped into the room.

* * *

The creams were coming along nicely, Christiana pausing in her labors to glance at Annelle. The woman had become a friend. Once, Christiana had never thought they two could get along. Annelle was no-nonsense and abrupt and yet once they'd begun talking in earnest, they'd found things in common. With Jocelyn long buried, Christiana was glad to have a friend. 

From behind them, came a noise, her glance finding Marian watching them with what appeared to be indecision in her eyes. Marian was certainly not the terror she remembered, though perhaps her perspective had changed on the woman. There was a difference between seeing her as a maid did and seeing her as her son's wife did.

Annelle's back straightened, her hands not wavering in her task. "Good morning, my lady," she greeted Marian.

Christiana wiped her hands on a cloth and turned fully to the woman, a greeting upon her lips as well. "Would you like to join us?"

"No," was the reply, Marian shaking her head. "No, I've never been good at making such things. It's not my talent. I came to speak with you."

Something weighty to be certain by Marian's manner. Christiana left the long table and motioned Marian to the chairs set to one side. Was she going to go on about children again? I hope not, she thought. There'd been far too much discussion on that subject lately and she was feeling the tension rising for her to become pregnant. Marian had not had any difficulty in that way, so she assumed every woman could produce children quickly. Christiana was feeling very pressured and a bit resentful at the emphasis placed upon children. She knew there needed to be an heir. No one had to badger her about it. "Wine?" She picked up a pitcher, only to put it down when Marian refused.

"You speak often with Damien. He considers your counsel."

"I've given little counsel." Truthfully, she usually just listened. There was not often a case where her thoughts were asked for. Adhemar didn't want counsel, he wanted someone to listen only. Jocelyn had once commented that he wanted a silent woman and Christiana supposed there really was truth to that in relation to the running of the household. He talked, she listened, and he came to conclusions and solutions without hearing her ideas.

"But he takes what you do give and thinks upon it. I've heard it happen. He won't listen to me, however. I'm only his mother." Marian crossed her legs, arranged her skirts and turned her gaze to Annelle, who was steadily working and giving the impression that she could not hear them, though Marian talked loud enough to be heard in the Great Hall below.

Christiana waited. She didn't remind Marian that they'd come here on Marian's own recommendation.

"Cheney is in above his head with this estate business. He's been trying to rook his brother and now he's going to be caught. I expect he's going to attempt to make Ansel take all the blame. Then, there's the matter of you."

"Me, Madame?"

"Yes," her attention returned to Christiana, her eyes glittering hard, much like Adhemar's did when he was negotiating some detail, "you. Don't be coy. I detest that in other women. You know very well Cheney has set his sights on you and I want to know how you're handling him."

Christiana sighed. "Germaine has been my guard and Annelle stays with me. I've no idea what else to do. Damien has been so busy sorting out the accounts, that I hesitate to bother him if I can take care of the situation myself."

Marian nodded. "You will have to put it before Damien eventually, you realize. He should know of Cheney's foolishness."

Sadly, Christiana had already realized that fact. Cheney was becoming bold, bolder than Adhemar had ever been, scheming and maneuvering until she was almost afraid to enter a room without a group of people with her. She would have to inform her husband of what was occurring and yet, Christiana didn't want to. She was more than half afraid he'd think she'd been encouraging Cheney. Trouble would be stirred and she was quite happy without upset in her life.

"I'd be grateful for help if you have any suggestions," Christiana said, looking at Marian with the best pleading expression she could muster. As Cheney's mother, Marian should have some idea how to head off disaster. Besides, being asked to help would give Marian a sense of being needed. Her focus might shift away from the subject of babies and that was always a good thing.

Slowly, Marian smiled. "Why yes, I do have a few." She proceeded to list them all.

* * *

To Cheney's frustration, no number of schemes budged Annelle or his mother from Christiana's side. Those women, frustratingly, stuck together at all times, leaving him to wonder if his plans were transparent. If so, it was only a matter of time before Damien had him dragged into the courtyard and whipped. 

Liking his skin the way it was, Cheney backed away from Christiana the same way a man tried warily to turn from a wild beast: with extreme caution and much wincing with every step.

Spring turned to summer and he was no nearer his goal of taking everything from his brother than he'd been upon conception of the idea. Ansel had been dismissed, his monies returned to the coffers. He left with no references and no monies. Disgraced by his greed. Cheney was surprised the man hadn't broken under Damien's will to discover the problem. He'd thought Ansel would incriminate him right away so as to not hold all the blame. It's what _he_ would have done.

But no, things went on as they had before, save his exclusion from the Steward meetings. A new man was hired, one that reported only to the heir.

Cheney sulked in his chamber. How was he supposed to get Damien's fortune if he couldn't get at it? Disgust turned his lips and he wondered what to do now. He was becoming bored with the role of second son, yet was too wary of a whipping to find quick satisfaction. How sweet it would be to just kill Damien and be done with it.

He loved his brother, he really did, but wouldn't Damien be happier in heaven? Although it was doubtful that was his destination. Really, he wouldn't be plagued with the limp and he wouldn't have to put up with mother complaining about not having grandchildren from him. All the little things, and big, wouldn't bother him. He'd be...well...dead.

So why not kill him? It was easier in the end than this exhausting plotting and he didn't even have to do the deed himself. Men could be found to do that. Perhaps one of the men in his army would take on the duty. Cheney made a mental note to feel out the rougher element for that task.

His mood lightened as he considered murder. So many things could be considered accidents. Why look at the mess at tournament! The ways a man could die that were not suspicious were in the thousands. Cheney contemplated them all and turned his full attention back onto his brother. Perhaps it was time to learn all he could about Damien. His routine, his habits. When the time was right.... Goodbye, big brother. Enjoy death.

Christiana would wait. And if the opportunity presented itself, then he'd steal her away.

Cheney sighed happily. Everything he'd ever wanted would soon be in his grasp.

* * *

How stupid did Cheney think he was? Damien was amazed that his brother appeared to consider him an imbecile incapable of understanding figures. Attempting to skim off monies from the accounts told him that Cheney was stupidly greedy, inclined to take an easy road. The blatancy of the thievery floored him, serving to reaffirm his opinion that even family could not be trusted. Cheney would have to go. But where? Toss him out on his ear? Tempting. Very tempting. Especially with his foolishness in pursuing Christiana. 

She had yet to bring it to him and while Germaine had assured him she felt only disgust for Cheney, a tiny part of him wondered if she found his romancing refreshing. He _was_ romancing her, too. Cheney was doing all those things she'd written of wanting. Or at least he was trying and she was avoiding him.

He sighed. Life was so much simpler at war. He knew what to expect there. Little subtlety was needed, while at home, half the time subtlety was expected. Being Count was more a headache than anything, however, the time had come to settle into the title. He couldn't keep gallivanting off whenever he felt like it. He was the head of this family. With his grandfather steadily going dotty, as he'd been for years, he truly was the eldest male left. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on his palm and contemplated the fire. Since coming here, he'd had little time for leisure activities like the ones he'd enjoyed with Christiana before their wedding.

Frankly, he missed the board games, the talks and the general camaraderie that had sprung up between them. Did she miss them too? They'd both been falling exhausted into bed, too tired to do more than undress.

That, he decided, was about to change. He was going to make a conscious effort to romance her, see if perhaps the idea of him as the man in her dreams wasn't as absurd as he'd thought. Why not? The new Steward was trustworthy and Germaine was chomping to return to his full duties. Marian could hire a companion if she missed Christiana's company too much. What was keeping him from spending time in leisure? Nothing.

As for Cheney and his foolishness, he'd deal with him whenever the next showing of stupidity warranted it. He could hardly wait.

* * *

Water, deliciously warm, cascaded along Christiana's back and shoulders. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the tub's edge. A sigh worked from her. "Do those potions Marian keeps giving me really work?" 

Annelle set several large, folded cloths on the bench. "It depends on who you ask. Germaine and I never needed them, but I know women that swear by them."

"How long did it take between your wedding and your first baby?" Taking up the soap, she worked up a lather and began to bathe in earnest.

"Ohh...." Annelle shrugged. "Two years, give or take a month or two." She took Christiana's comb and set it by the cloths. Then, she came to the tub, crouching down. "I wouldn't worry, my lady. Some couples are very fertile to begin with, yet their well goes dry after two babies, while others are slow and have many, many fat and healthy babies. You'll have babies. Be patient. God will bring them to you."

Christina set the soap aside and rinsed. "Marian is so persistent. She's always asking. I can keep her distracted for only a short while and while I do want a baby, her persistent questions wear thin." One large cloth was held up, Christiana standing, letting Annelle wrap it about her before she stepped from the tub.

"She is worried for heirs. It's natural for her to be concerned. She means well with those drinks and if it makes her happy to think she's aiding nature, then what is the harm in gagging them down." Annelle made a face to punctuate the idea and Christiana laughed. "Honestly, what is the harm?"

"No harm, I guess. I wish they didn't taste so foul. Each one is worse than the previous. The taste of the last one remained for hours." She dressed, then moved to sit on the bench to comb her hair. Annelle busied herself cleaning up from the bath and calling men to take the water and tub. When they were alone again, Annelle brought Christiana's sewing to her. She took it with no intention of taking a single stitch. "Where is my husband?"

A faraway look came into Annelle's eyes as she thought. "Training, I believe. Germaine mentioned something about swords for today."

Mischief welled in her. "Have you ever been out to the training field?"

"Why?" Her lips quirked in a smile, as though she had some inkling of what Christiana was about to suggest.

"I'd like to watch him train."

"Then why are we still sitting here?"

Christiana shrugged. "Well, Marian does expect me to bring my sewing to her chamber. All the young ladies are ready to practice their stitches." The sewing was set beside her. "Of course, nothing says I have to remember I'm supposed to be there. It's been a long and difficult morning already. Perhaps a matter came up and I simply have to speak to Damien on it."

Annelle laughed, a hearty sound. "She will not be amused, my lady."

Christiana stood. "Well, it's too nice a day to stay inside."

They snuck from the manor with giggles and shushed conversation, pretending they didn't hear Marian calling to them as they went out the door. Christiana felt like a girl again, some of her seriousness lifting. It felt good to deviate from the set routine, to shake it up. Outside the walls, she paused.

"Which way?"

"Umm..." Annelle peered to the right with a frown. "I think that way. We spend so much time in the other house that I always get turned around at this one. Right. It's right. I'm sure of it."

The training field was to the left on the path. It only took them a little while to realize their mistake and then they hurried towards the field. The sound of the men's swords ringing with each blow should have told them which direction to begin with, but in their merry mood, they didn't particularly care. The day was beautiful, not a cloud in the sky and the warmth of the sun shone down upon them.

In the field, men were fighting and being corrected in their techniques. When they saw the two women, they stopped, one young boy running through the crowd of men shouting, "My lord! My lord!" If Christiana had hoped to surprise Adhemar, she was to be disappointed. By the time she and Annelle reached the center of the crowd, every man there was aware that the lady of the household had come to pay them a visit.

"Well, if it isn't my wife," Adhemar said, resting the tip of his sword against the ground. He gave Germaine a glance and nod and then Germaine was telling the men to return to work. "What brings you out here?"

He was bare-chested and she took a long moment to admire him before answering. "I'm hiding."

"Are you?" His brows raised, a smirk tugging his lips. "From...who?"

Annelle edged away, Christiana paying her little heed. "From your mother."

"Ahh. I hide from her on occasion as well. Why are you hiding today?" One step brought him closer to her, his free hand slipping along her waist, squeezing warmly.

"Sad really," she began. "She wants, no _demands_ I remain indoors on this gorgeous day. I simply can't do that. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and one little bird told me you were out here in the hot sunlight." Placing her hands on his chest to brace herself, she stood up on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "I couldn't stay away."

He held the sword out towards the nearest men. "Take this." When it was out of his grasp, he wrapped that arm around her. "Shall we slip into the bushes? That copse of trees on my right is thick and if I recall correctly, the grasses are soft." His lips brushed hers. "As for the men, they won't bother us. They know better."

Christiana let him lead her into the trees. They returned awhile later, him still picking grass from her hair as they walked. He got right back to training, retrieving his sword and choosing an opponent. Annelle came up to her, grinning.

"Is that what you call watching him train?"

"No," she replied. "That was what I call incentive to come to bed early tonight."

"Hmm. I'll have to remember that incentive."

The rest of the morning passed quickly.


	14. Fourteen

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Fourteen

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: I couldn't resist the mention of a certain scribe later in the chapter. Cheers!

* * *

Wat was thoroughly enjoying getting to know Anne and thoroughly hating losing Kate. It was not losing as in physically losing her, but rather emotionally. Kate was slipping away. Each day without Will seemed to be taking the very strength from her and the only thing getting her through the days was Christopher. She talked to him, cuddled him and Wat had even heard her exclaim softly that she fully considered him hers. That Jocelyn had given birth to him meant nothing to her anymore. A simple technicality. 

Christopher was Kate's son now.

There were elements still of the old Kate remaining, fragments that appeared in unexpected moments, but they were shadows. Her laugh was a ghost of the one Wat remembered and she had lost her appetite. He couldn't imagine how hard this was on her. She'd lost one well-loved man in her life and now another?

Anne had tried speaking with her, tried to coax Kate to cry and let out all of the emotions she kept buried inside. Kate claimed she still had hope and refused to let her tears come where any could see them. Wat could understand her reticence, but what of the comfort of friends? Why did she push them away from her when she needed them most? Frustrating. Getting up from his perch on a fallen log, Wat strode to Kate.

She was standing in the middle of the road, Christopher squirming in her arms, watching the direction that their monk friends had gone. The parting of their company had been a friendly one, their travels together done and wondrously safe. No thieves had attacked them and no illness come upon them save occasional pangs of homesickness. The monks had a different direction to go, bidding them farewell only moments earlier. Kate glanced his way and said nothing.

"Let's take a day and rest. Find a clearing, catch some dinner and...." He shrugged. "We could have a good cry."

A sigh left her, her eyes rolling. "Wat, will you let me be? I'm perfectly well. I'm not hungry and I don't need to cry. I know Will is coming. It's just..." Shifting Christopher, she licked her lips before going on. "It's difficult when I see you with Anne is all. I'm coping."

"You're not coping," he yelled, his raised voice causing Christopher to cry. "You're wasting away."

Anne hurried to them, reaching for Christopher and Kate let her take him. "Not so loud, Wat," Anne admonished with a hard stare and raised brow.

But Wat's frustration had reached levels that could not go away so easily. He'd kept his temper and held it in on this topic, accepting Anne's advice to let Kate come to them for comfort when she was ready. Apparently, Kate was never going to be ready, so there was no sense in keeping it all inside, now was there?

"Not so loud? _Not so loud? _I haven't yet begun to be loud, Anne."

Kate's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, her hands settling on her hips. "You have something to say to me, then?" There was the slightest catch in her voice, as though her travel-weariness was giving him a glimpse at the vulnerable woman she really was. Her voice had the tone of a woman barely holding herself in check, of hanging on for dear life to what she thought was sanity.

He sputtered, both index fingers and head shaking at her. "'Something' doesn't cover it all."

"I'm a grown woman, Wat. Lay it out."

"Oh, yes. What have you eaten in the last week? Not a full meal, that's for sure. Anne's eaten more than you and she's not a big eater to start with. Have you slept? Not you. Not Kate, toughing it out, crying as silently as you can into your blanket. We're here for you, but you don't see us. Caught in your own sad world where you've lost Will. You cuddle that boy of his, but you won't let us comfort you at all."

"You have no right...." Kate trailed off, lower lip trembling. She blinked several times, shook her head and forged on. "You don't know what it's like to lose the man you waited your life to have, to say a moment's goodbye with a promise that depends on so many factors. Wat, we don't know if Will still lives. He could have been killed and we'll never hear one word of it." Tears welled up and slipped from her eyes. Still, Kate remained unmoving in the road.

Wat took a step to her. He started to reach out, to touch her arms, but didn't. "It's life, Kate. We all lose and gain and sometimes it evens out and other times it doesn't. It's unfair and it's full of pain, but it's life. It's also joyous and filled with wondrous things. You can't wrap yourself up in the pain of it. You have to let it go or you'll be miserable. Surround yourself with friends and take what comfort we can give you."

Angrily, she wiped at her eyes with her fingers. "If I cry, it's like I'm giving up hope. I can't cry. Not yet."

There was only one thing he could think of to do right then. Either Kate would hug him back, or she'd hit him. One of the two. If she hugged him, all the better. If she slugged him, at least she'd be letting some emotion out. Before she could slip away, he grabbed her, dragged her against him and enfolded her in his arms. For a second, he was afraid of a third option: standing stiff and still without any emotion, but then she hugged him back and her tears came. Her wailings were at first muffled, then grew louder, Kate growing limper against him until he had to left her to keep her from sliding straight to the ground.

When his shirtfront was soaked, he continued to hold her. Awhile later, Anne eased Kate from him and he found his arms full of squirming child, Anne leading a trembling Kate over to a log. The two sat and talked quietly while the afternoon shadows stretched long around them.

* * *

Christiana could not believe how well behaved Cheney had become. The manor was relatively peaceful and when Damien announced he was going to take a group into the town, no alarm bells tolled in her mind. Cheney's attitude had become reserved and polite, as though he'd accepted his place there. Marian had taken the ladies out into the garden for lessons and everyone that could be outside had taken themselves there. The manor was blessedly quiet and Christiana decided to take advantage of the time to read her letters and begin replies. 

She unrolled one of the letters that had been brought to her, her smile fading as she read the contents. This letter was not for her. It was for Cheney. What she read sickened her, filled her belly with dread.

From the door outside came Cheney's voice. "Sister, this letter I was given is yours. I think our man has made a mistake...." He trailed off, eyes narrowing. "Why do you look at me that way?"

Quickly, she rolled the letter, holding it to her. The words she thought slipped from her mouth. "What sort of monster are you?"

A guarded expression upon his face, geniality slipping away. "What do you mean?"

Christiana took a step backward. "To ask a man to..._torture_ your own brother."

His pleasant facade fell away, cold anger treading across his features. "Give me that letter Christiana or I will hurt you."

He was blocking the door, steps bringing him across the room, cutting off the hallway to the back of the house. She had one option: up. Christiana whirled, taking the stairs as fast as she could, more than half afraid he was going to catch her and drag her down the steps. She could imagine him tugging her, her head thumping sickeningly against the stones and wood. At the top, she saw Annelle hurrying towards her, but didn't pause, racing towards the roof, where she knew one of Damien's trusted man would be posted. There was always a guard up there, one to watch for riders on the road.

Annelle was behind her, throwing herself in Cheney's way, shouting things at him, words that she'd undoubtedly learned from the men. At the top of the stairs to the roof, Christiana glanced back. Cheney grabbed Annelle, his fist crashing into her face even as he released her. Annelle staggered and fell to the floor and then Christiana was through the door.

At that second, with the door swinging shut, Christiana remembered the construction. No man was posted here, not today, not until the supplies were brought back to fix the roof and the top section of wall. Cheney had let it fall into disrepair.

"Oh no! God, no!" She skirted the broken section of roof, making her way to the far side. There was nowhere to go.

Cheney burst through the door. His momentum carried him nearly to the open section and Christiana was extremely disappointed when he didn't fall in. "The letter, if you please."

"No."

"Don't be stupid, Christiana. The letter."

"You can't have it." She backed away, as far as possible, Cheney edging his way around the hole. The way he came was the only way around the huge hole. Panicked, Christiana looked about, hoping for something, anything that would carry her from him.

"Give it to me and maybe I won't throw you through the roof."

A rope caught her eye, then the contraption it was attached to. Tucking the letter into her bodice, Christiana climbed onto the line of stones. "I'll throw myself before I let you touch me."

She jumped.

* * *

The house they'd been directed to was a grand one, sprawling across the hillside and Wat made their small group pause before they set on the road towards it. 

"We don't have to walk in there, Kate. We can turn around and go back."

She hoisted Christopher more firmly upon her hip and shook her head. "Don't tempt me now."

Anne crossed her arms. "It's the only way to find if we need to go back." Her hair had grown longer during their journey, the blond curls lightened by the sun, and Wat almost reached out to wrap a curl about his fingertip. For a girl who'd never left her home village, she traveled well with little vocal complaints. She favored a smile upon him. "Lead us, Wat."

He liked the sound of his name from her lips. Adhemar had treated her as a non-entity, a thing there in the background. Anne had confessed that the day in the rain was the first time the Count had used her name. Before then, he'd called her 'girl'. She wouldn't get that from Wat. He had come to treasure her. Was it out of lack of choice? Kate was taken and Anne was the only one left. No, he didn't think so. Anne had a way about her that attracted him. "Let's go then."

The road was not long. It curved about and the foliage sent a rich, exotic fragrance into the air. The house was even grander up close. Children played in the dirt and they were greeted with lazy smiles and gentle inquiries of their business. The lady Francesca was still alive, as Christiana had hoped, and she was there in residence. A servant would let her know they waited to see her.

Wat wondered just what the lady would look like and the manner she'd have. Christiana had given Kate an idea, but he knew letters didn't give a complete view of a person. A genial letter was easy to write. A genial manner in person was far more difficult if one wasn't that sort of person. He greatly hoped Francesca Casale was a good woman.

They were taken into a large and open courtyard and then into the manor itself. The entrance hall was small and opened into a large great hall. He exchanged a glance with Kate. This was a rich home. The noble that lived here was on a social level with Count Adhemar and possibly even above him.

The woman that crossed to them was tall and dark haired, with the warm complexion he'd noticed of this people and a quick smile. "I am the lady Francesca."

Wat gave her the letter of introduction Christiana had penned. It was read through, then re-rolled, Francesca Casale's regard settling upon each of them for long minutes before moving on to the next.

Finally, she cleared her throat. "Christiana is well then?" She seemed stunned.

"Yes, my lady. She has married a Count and left her guardian's home."

She crossed her arms, tilted her head. "Good. I had been told she died." Her gaze turned to Kate and she stepped close, a hand touching Christopher's back. He put his fingers in his mouth and watched her. "This must be the noble boy she wrote of."

"He was Lady Jocelyn and Sir Will's." Kate faltered on Will's title and Wat wanted to give her back a comforting rub. He didn't though, remaining where he was. These next few moments, he sensed, were the most important ones of their journey.

Francesca's dark eyes met Kate's and Wat wondered what she saw in Kate's gaze, for she nodded and gave a sad smile. "You may stay. I'll house you in accordance to the child's status." Unrolling the letter, she scanned it, then once more put it away. "Kate and Anne will be his nursemaids and Wat, my husband can use a good squire. You may work here until your lord comes and then, we'll talk again, all of us. For all intents and purposes, the boy is a guest in this house and you are his servants. That is how you'll be introduced and how you will live." She lifted a hand, beckoning men to them. "These men will bring you food and shortly, you'll be shown to quarters. This evening we'll sit and talk of my cousin. I hunger to hear more of her."

She left, long skirts trailing behind her and Wat felt months of tension draining from his shoulders. A look at Kate and Anne showed they felt the same.

Anne moved close to him, slipping her hand into his. He returned the squeeze.

Their journey was done.

* * *

Francesca was not surprised by the group that arrived on her doorstep. She was never surprised. Her manner towards the less fortunate of God's creatures had earned her the reputation as a great benefactor. Her, not her husbands. 

She'd been blessed with two husbands in a row who cared not one whit for the foolishness of men in regards to women. Both publicly claimed she could care for the estates far better then their living male relatives and a band of wily lawyers had produced documents assuring her continued control of much of the money and estates. Francesca had become a vulgarly wealthy woman.

Not too bad for a girl from a poor noble line.

Her mother's youngest sister had wed a foreigner in an attempt to bring some money into the family. That had failed, no moneys coming to their family even in a roundabout way. Francesca had gained a single cousin though, a girl named Christiana. She'd given her no thought really, until she was half grown and realized she knew nothing of her cousin save that she was orphaned and living with a family. By that time, Francesca was widowed, with an already obscene amount of money in her possession. It was natural to send some to her cousin as a show of goodwill. She sent offerings to others in her family, so why not her cousin as well?

It didn't deter her when few replies -- never from Christiana directly-- were returned. The replies that did come were from the lady of the home Christiana stayed in. Quick scratchings that mentioned Christiana was well. Once a year, Francesca sent a letter. Christiana reached marriageable age and beyond. Concerned by the lack of offers, Francesca decided that her cousin simply wasn't in the right climate. Men there must not appreciate her. She'd bring her back here where she belonged and set about finding her a husband. Francesca sent a group of guards for her, only to have them return with the news that Christiana had died. A sudden illness.

And now, to have a letter from her cousin!

Joy traversed her veins, but she held it in check. She'd question this group after they'd rested and if their answers were consistent with what she knew of Christiana's life, then they were genuinely sent by her cousin and Francesca would celebrate.

* * *

The room Kate found herself in was large and sunny. She assumed it was for Christopher. The furniture was all big and made of dark wood and when she sat upon the bed, she found it heavenly to lie upon. There was a balcony on one wall, Anne and Wat's voices carrying to her. 

They had a chamber off that balcony.

Kate lay back and watched Christopher toddle about the room. There was nothing he could really get into, the fireplace swept clean and no cloths hanging from tables for him to pull on. He went to the balcony, Kate hearing Anne call to him. Then, Anne's voice talking to him, with Wat's joining in. They left her alone.

She was glad of the time and even gladder to be on a proper bed. Kate had never really been on a bed as grand as this and doubted she'd be on it long. She relaxed, drifting to sleep before she even realized she was going to.

When she woke, there was a fire in the fireplace and candles burning. Someone had covered her with a blanket and removed her shoes. Kate sat up, pushing her hair from her face. She felt heavy, her body aching with weariness. Her sleep had not refreshed her.

"You've not slept long enough." The voice came from the chair before the fire and belonged to Francesca. She set a cup down on the table beside her and smiled. "Your two companions still sleep and even the boy. You must be more tolerant of the drug."

"We were drugged?" Kate swallowed, uncertain if this woman wanted proper address. "My lady," she added.

Francesca laughed gently. "To my people, I am Francesca. It's only those outside my home that refer to my title in any way. Francesca is fine. You are Kate?"

"Yes." Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she tried to clear her mind by taking deep breaths of the fragrant air. A breeze blew soothing scents in through the open balcony door.

"Then tell me, Kate, how you know of Christiana. Were you a maid for her?"

Kate stared blankly at the woman. "You don't know?"

"Know?" Black brows raised. "Know what?"

"She was a maid to the lady Jocelyn. She'd worked so long as a maid, she barely remembered her station."

Francesca's expression changed, first to anger, then sadness and finally, she nodded. "That explains much I'd found puzzling."

"She's married now, to a Count in Anjou." She stretched, working at the kink in her back. "She's even happy, I think."

Francesca crossed her legs, motioned to the table and the other chair. "Join me and tell me about it all. I want to hear everything. When did you meet her, what was happening? Tell me all until the letter she penned. I'd hear about my cousin from someone who knew her well."

Kate gave a laugh herself and shook her head. "I wouldn't say I knew her well, really. I barely had much conversation with her at all, but I'll tell you what I know." She joined Francesca and when her tale was done, the woman leaned forward.

"You've actually met, Geoffrey Chaucer? The Book of the Duchess was brilliant! And you know him?"

"Know him, argued with him....yes. He's a unique man." Which was putting it mildly. Kate had never met a man quite like Geoffrey Chaucer before and doubted she ever would again.

"You, Kate, and your companions have led a charmed life. Literary men, princes. Such excitement and my cousin was in it too. I must write to her, hear her story as well." She stood. "Rest awhile more. Come down and out to the kitchens when you're ready for food and we'll decide upon your days in the morning."

She left and Kate was alone in the big room, considering Francesca's view. A charmed life? Excitement? As she thought, she realized that she truly was lucky to have become embroiled in the events she'd described. She'd met Will, made friends and taken on the task of caring for a child. She'd traveled to a far off land. She was blessed and if Will never appeared here, then she could finish out her life _knowing_ she'd been blessed.

With a smile -- her first real one in months --, she curled into the chair and watched the flames.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Fifteen

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: A shorter chapter is better than none yes? Apologies to my readers, work keeps me busy recently.

* * *

The trip into town had been satisfying in that now, all the pieces needed to repair the tower were on hand. Adhemar rode home with that satisfaction settling upon his shoulders. One task well completed. Soon, the tower would be repaired and men could once more be posted there without fear of falling through the great hole in the floor. 

He went through the gate, his attention drawn first to the rather large crowd of people gathered near on wall of the house and then upward. "Germaine," he began. "Why is my wife dangling from the pulley system?" He asked this with immense curiosity until he noticed Cheney on the roof only a few feet from where Christiana was. Cheney was leaning out, attempting to grab at her and she was twisting around to avoid him, screaming at the top of her lungs.

His curiosity turned quickly to an urgency he couldn't shake. He and Germaine dismounted, found Annelle underneath the pulley system, her jaw looking more than a bit swollen. A wagon filled with straw was directly underneath Christiana and Annelle was calmly sawing at the rope that kept Christiana high in the air. Every so often, Annelle would pause and call out, "Hold on tight, my lady! Only a minute more!"

Germaine hurried forward. "Woman stop!"

Glancing at him, Annelle kept sawing, making little actual progress on the rope. "I will not."

"You can't just cut the rope."

"Have you another idea? Should we fly up there to get her?"

Cheney disappeared from the roof and Adhemar gave two men orders to detain him. Under normal circumstances, he'd find Christiana's predicament amusing, but Cheney's obvious involvement took away all humor in what he was seeing.

Christiana gave a yelp and he winced involuntarily as her grip slackened and she slid several feet down the rope before managing to grip it again. He could well imagine the rope burns that were going to be on her hands from that and felt much sympathy for her on that count. Rope burn was not a fun ailment to suffer from.

With a glance, he calculated her descent into the wagon. Not too bad. Annelle and Germaine still argued. No progress was being made, so he took matters into his own hands. Striding forward the last few steps, he picked up the nearby axe and swung it at the rope. Christiana plummeted into the wagon, emerging a minute later coughing and choking from dust and straw. Climbing up, he perched on the wheel and rested his arms on the wagon side.

"I leave for a few hours and you get into mischief. Have you discovered anything from this escapade?"

She coughed, nodded her head. "I hate heights."

Adhemar laughed. "I would too if I dangled from that rope for too long. Come here." He held a hand out to her and set about helping her from the wagon. He was greatly interested in hearing the explanation for this. It wasn't long in coming and when she was finished, he was already regretful for what he had to do.

* * *

The terror one feels when two stories up with nothing between you and the ground but plain air was indescribable. Christiana regretted her decision to jump for the rope the second she was swinging on it. Looking down made her queasy, looking up made her queasy and looking at Cheney made her queasy. There was nowhere to look and she didn't dare close her eyes. 

So, she held on, twisting as best she could to keep Cheney from managing to grab at her clothes. If she thought she could overbalance him and he'd be the one to fall, she'd possibly let him grab her, but the thought crossed her mind that she couldn't be that lucky in a single day.

Below her, she heard Annelle screaming at her and then she couldn't hold on. For terrifying seconds, Christiana thought she was going to surely die. She didn't though, finding her grip just as she neared the end of the rope. Unfortunately, no sooner had she done so then she was falling again. There wasn't enough time to take a breath. She landed hard, sinking through the straw and banging the bottom of the wagon. Who knew straw could be so hard?

Dust billowed up and she inhaled some. Christiana coughed, fought her way to the top of the straw and broke out of it. She was in no mood for quips, but apparently her reply to Damien's question had humor to it, for he gave a long and irritating laugh before reaching to help her from the wagon.

She spit fragments of straw onto the ground and hurriedly explained the matter at hand. "Cheney received a letter." Christiana paused, patted her bodice rather energetically and removed the crumpled letter. "He's planning to have you killed. The letter was given to me by mistake and he chased me to get it."

He took the letter from her with an amused glance at her bodice. "Have you anything else in there I should know about?" All levity left him however as he read, his expression darkening.

Cheney was tossed hard into the courtyard, protesting his innocence of anything and everything possible. He landed roughly and Christiana hoped he'd sport black bruises from it. She placed herself behind her husband, not bothering to suppress her triumphant stare when Cheney looked her way. He'd been caught and that was that.

Adhemar strode to his brother, tossed the letter towards him, then crossed his arms.

The letter fell onto the ground, Cheney making no move to touch it.

"Pick it up, Cheney."

"No."

"Pick it up. Read it, then tell me if what my wife says is true."

The letter was kicked, rolling in the dust. "What do you think?"

"You tell me."

A cocky grin settled upon Cheney's features and he crossed his arms, imitating his elder brother. "All true. Every word."

"Have you no brain in your head? No sense that the simplest of animals carries?" Adhemar snorted. "Obviously not, or you wouldn't have made such a stupid mistake."

"I want you dead," Cheney said with a shrug. "At any price and if I had to kill your wife to retrieve my letter and cover my tracks..." Another shrug, shoulders lifting and falling. "So be it."

Christiana edged close to Annelle and Germaine.

Spreading his arms wide, Adhemar beckoned to Cheney with his fingers. "I'm right here, little brother, in open space. No guards at my back. Let's settle this, hmm? Once and for all. Choose your weapon."

Cheney turned his head to one side as Marian brought the ladies around the manor and into the area. She marched to Christiana, gave her a long stare, then turned her face to her sons and made not one remark. Her hand stretched out and grasped Christiana's tightly.

"No tricks, Damien."

"No tricks, Cheney. A fair fight. Skill against skill." As he spoke, he took off his jacket, tossing it down onto the ground and removing the dagger at his belt. He sniffed, took a few steps to one side. "Choose, or I will."

Cheney frowned, then grinned like a wolf ready to carry off a tender young lamb. "Swords. Swords, Damien. Your worst area."

Marian's hand tightened. Christiana yelped under the pressure, allowing herself to be brought closer to her. "Stop this," Marian whispered.

"I can't," Christiana returned. She didn't like the expression on Cheney's face, that superiority, nor did she like the glimmer of worry Damien shot towards her as he accepted his sword from one man. She'd never seen him uncertain of himself, that single quick glimpse frightening her more than her moments dangling in the air had.

This was going to end badly and there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

His Prince was safe at home, under the watchful care of an entire household and Will was free to go. At last. 

Cut loose, with plenty of money in his purse and an itching to leave London, it was a further irritant to be waiting on Roland. His friend had claimed a need to see a final person before they left and Will had been waiting for three hours. He'd sat in this tavern and heard the cathedral bells ring three separate times and Roland still had not arrived.

They still had to stop and collect Will's father yet as well.

So what was keeping Roland?

Not a moment later, Roland came through the doors and made his way to him. Will met him, ignoring the apology on Roland's lips until they were walking outside.

"You could have sent a messenger," Will said, stalking along the crowded street. He was ready to shake the dust of London from his shoes and hurry on their way.

"I suppose you'd have me interrupt the Princess just to send word to you."

Will stopped walking. The Princess? "You were with Princess Joan?"

Taking his arm, Roland drew him to a doorway. "She needed to talk. I obliged her. You don't interrupt the Princess when she's talking with you, you know. You sit and give her your full attention."

"Why you?" Come to think of it, Roland had been disappearing an awful lot lately. Was there something between him and Joan? Will didn't think it as strange a thing as he once would have supposed, though it didn't seem likely. She was devoted to Edward. "Are you two -"

"No!" Roland glanced around, shaking his head. "No one tells her anything Will, not really. They prance about and claim everything is fine, but they won't talk to her like she's real. To them, she's just a wife. She's _his_ wife and she needed someone to find out information for her."

"Princess Joan has a household of servants at her disposal, men and women loyal to her alone and she needed you?" Crossing his arms, Will waited Roland's answer.

Roland nodded, a defensive glint in his eyes. "Yes, she needed me."

"Oh." Will shrugged. "You could have said so from the start. I could have gotten father and been ready as soon as you arrived."

"No argument, Will?"

"Should there be one?" He continued walking, keeping up an air of nonchalance, when he really speculated at the depths of Joan's craftiness. Roland would have been able to tell her nearly anything she'd wanted to know. A wise move on her part and he wondered if she'd used tears to get him to agree, finally deciding that she had. The Princess was adept at manipulating men into the places she needed them in order to keep tabs on every aspect of her life. It had taken Will three or four meetings with her to realize that she wasn't what she appeared on the outside.

Beautiful? Yes. Intelligent? Amazingly. Sweet? It depended on the day and what her goal was in the meeting. He had no doubt she loved Edward. Everything she maneuvered into being during the journey and this period in London had been for the good of her marriage. Joan had taken charge now and heaven help the poor man who stood in her way.

"No, no reason for one. I assumed..." Roland sighed, keeping pace with him. "She cried, Will. What could I do but offer to help her?"

_She cried_. Suddenly, Will stopped, staring at Roland for a moment. A laugh choked from him, then another and he clapped Roland on the back. "Not a thing, Roland. You couldn't have done a thing different." It felt good to laugh and he let the chuckles keep coming until they died off. Roland's bemused expression only served to strengthen his amusement.

"What's so funny, William Thatcher?"

Will gasped for breath, struggling to sober. "Nothing. Nothing."

"You'll tell me, or I'll -"

"I swear, it's nothing, Roland. Now we've got to get father and leave this city."

The journey from London was easier than the journey to and with each step, Will's anticipation of seeing Kate once more lightened his heart.

It had been nearly ten months since he'd seen her.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Title: Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Sixteen

Author: kasey8473

Summary: The future didn't turn out as planned. Adhemar married Jocelyn and she has died, leaving William Thatcher's son behind. Adhemar must decide where to go from here.

Pairing: Adhemar/Christiana, Will/Kate

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' is property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

* * *

In his life, Adhemar had experienced many brushes with death. One could not live as a soldier and not, especially in these tumultuous times. He'd long ago come to terms with the possibility that he would die someday. 

He just hoped it wasn't today. He'd very much like to continue living.

He kept his attention on Cheney as they slowly circled one another. To glance once more at Christiana was to lose his concentration and in a fight such as this, to lose concentration was to open himself to his opponent. He had no intention of making this easy on Cheney.

When had Cheney slipped over from being mildly annoying to holding a decent skill with a blade? It seemed impossible and yet it had occurred. His brother was proficient with a sword, using it with the skill of a master. Adhemar cursed under his breath. Cheney wasn't going to make this easy for him either.

They went about their fight with slow, deliberate care, sizing up one another and assessing skill. Adhemar felt sweat begin to trickle down his temples and ignored it. He had one definite advantage to Cheney: he'd actually fought in battle and killed. He'd rammed a blade into another man and felt the flesh give; felt the hot wash of blood upon him. Cheney, as far as he knew, had not that experience.

Steel met steel, an ache growing in his arms from the weight of his sword. As with the sweat, he ignored it, gritting his teeth to keep expression from taking his face. Cheney was not to know what he was thinking. A man's eyes could give away his intentions.

And that, was Cheney's mistake.

Adhemar took advantage, striking, letting loose some of the anger inside him. Cheney stumbled, lost his footing and barely missed sprawling in the dirt. Adhemar had the advantage and pressed it, not giving his brother a chance to regain his ground and, after what seemed as conversely hours and seconds, Cheney was flat on the ground, his sword out of reach, Damien's blade at his chest.

They were both breathing hard, sweaty and dusty. Adhemar's leg, the one injured months earlier, began to ache with a fierceness that irritated him. For a moment, he paused, pondering the bonds of brotherhood. How, he reflected, did siblings come to this pass?

"You won't kill me, Damien," Cheney gasped, daring to scoot up.

Damien simply moved his sword after Cheney. "And why is that?"

"Because somewhere in your mind you will always honor family ties, as ridiculous as the concept is. You won't kill me."

"I no longer call you family. A man tried to teach me about mercy once," he said, turning his grip on the handle and taking a deep breath. "I don't believe I took to that lesson." Raising his face from that of his brother's, Damien gave the sword a shove downward with all of his weight behind it. Cheney's cries slipped past his ears, an unintelligible din, and with legs that threatened to collapse beneath him, he made his way to the manor.

He barely reached his chamber before falling to his knees and burying his face in his hands.

* * *

It was Christiana who finally went to Cheney, watching over him as he breathed his last. She couldn't quite make herself touch his hand. Some part of her had to see him fade from life; know he was truly not coming back. 

Marian had tried to keep her back, whispering her disbelief that the fight had ended with one son dead. Never had she thought that would happen, she'd said. Damien could have banished him.

He could have. But how long until Cheney became stupidly brave enough to ride in and start another fight? Christiana understood this. She understood the necessity of what her husband had done. And so she sat with the dying man until he breathed his last and his eyes turned glassy. She sat as the men returned to the manor and Marian was carried away, her grief in full swing. She watched the ladies return to the garden one by one and she watched the sun make it's way across the sky.

When she had done all of this, she stood and reached for the sword, only to have Germaine speak from behind her.

"You won't be able to remove it, my lady. The tip is into the ground, I fear. I will do it. You should tend to my lord. He'll need you by now."

With a nod, she took his advice, walking into the manor and up the stairs.

* * *

It was just one more duty that Germaine went about, this collecting of his lord's sword and the preparing of the body for burial. Men were even now digging a hole behind the garden for Cheney to be laid to rest in. Germaine did this duty because no other seemed willing. 

Lady Marian was in her chamber, inconsolable with grief, her sobs ringing the manor and Germaine thought he could hear male sobs as well. He wiped the blood from the sword and carefully sheathed it, then set it aside. Cheney had miscalculated Damien, as he always had. Not that Germaine was surprised by it. That seemed to have been Cheney's lot in life: to miscalculate his brother.

He didn't doubt that the outcome of the ongoing struggle between those two could have been anything different than what had occurred. The end had come before Germaine had thought it would was all. He'd actually anticipated years more of Cheney pushing and Adhemar pushing back, then Cheney retreating to lick his wounds. It was a relief to have it ended.

Dipping a cloth into water a girl had brought, he wiped Cheney's face and in moments, was free from his task, as much as he could do himself was done. When the hole was finished, Cheney would be buried.

Germaine got up and made his way into the manor.

Yes, those were definitely male sobs. His lord grieved.

Thoughtful, he began to give instructions to those gathered in the Hall.

* * *

His mind wandered. That was all that could be said for the twilight state that took a hold of Adhemar as his sobs tapered away and tears would no longer come freely. He knelt on the floor for God knew how long, staring at the stones and not seeing them. 

Cheney was dead and by Adhemar's own hand. He'd killed his brother, his own flesh and blood.

Those thoughts raged in his mind, turning in circles, around and around until they too, dried up. Gradually, his emotions settled and he was aware of Christiana there with him. She said nothing, nor did she try to touch him. Instead, she reached for the lute he kept by the bench and tried to play it.

She was extremely, wincingly bad at it.

His attention found a firm hold on the music. Damien found himself nodding his head in an effort to keep her playing in a steady rhythm. It didn't help. She played faster, then slower, her fingers never quite keeping the tempo. Despite it all, it was oddly soothing, not to mention touching that she should try to comfort him with music he liked. When she faltered on one passage, he looked up. His eyes felt hot and gritty. "You're improving," he said, surprised to find his voice raw and shaking.

"And you're lying," came her reply. With a small smile, she put the lute away and got up from the bench, her steps slow towards him. She crouched down before him.

He shook his head, then changed his mind and nodded. "Yes. You're horrible at it, Christiana."

Her tongue darted out, licking her lips. "I'm well aware of it." Her concern was etched in her eyes, her hands stretching out and cupping his face, thumbs stroking along his jaw. "Tell me." There was such an understanding light in her eyes that he wanted nothing more at that moment than to lay his head in her lap and let her fingers soothe his brow.

"He was my brother. We may not have liked each other, but we were brothers. You grieved for Jocelyn as a sister. I must have my grief now." A sigh escaped him. "When did he begin to hate me? What set him on that path? I let him run these lands because it was the thing to do. It was expected that I give him a chance to earn a home for himself. It wouldn't have been this manor. If he had shown he could take the responsibility, I would have gifted him with a place for him to take a wife and raise a family."

Her hand slipped into his hair, stroking, _soothing_. "I know."

"Instead, he abused what I generously gave him and wanted more. I suppose I'll have to write his intended, tell the girl she can remain in her nunnery."

Christiana scooted on the floor until she was beside him. One of her hands took his, the other keeping up an idle caress along his neck, jaw and shoulders. "I didn't realize he was set to marry."

"Yes. He wasn't pleased with the girl as a choice, but she was from a good family and her father would have made a powerful ally. Cheney didn't like to acknowledge that his choice of brides was already made and not solely by him." Cheney had not approved of the choice made for him, ignoring the girl. He wanted to be master of his own life, but when was a younger son ever allowed to be such?

When all sons that had come before him had died and he was the last remaining. Only then could he turn the hands of fate where he wished them. Only then could he have everything the eldest had been burdened with.

And there was the reason in a nutshell.

It was too bad, in a way, that Cheney would never know the troubles that came from the position of power in the family.

He gave in to the urge to put his head in her lap, and when his head was resting upon her thighs, he took her hands and pressed them to his face. "Just for a moment, Christiana. Will you rub my temples..." He paused. "Please?"

She gave a gasp, though at what he didn't know, and began to knead along his brow with a gentle touch. Damien closed his eyes.

* * *

Please.

How often had any person heard that word from him? And in question? Christiana could count the number of times she'd heard that word from his lips on the fingers of one hand. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped her at that softly spoken word and hurried to ease the tensions she felt there.

Long after the moment, she'd remember it. He'd asked her, not ordered.

Christiana treasured those few seconds.

He'd asked. If she'd had to explain, she couldn't tell how very much that tiny act meant to her. It was something few would have understood, so she kept it to herself, returning to the remembrance every so often with a lightness growing in her heart.

He'd _asked_.

* * *

Too long had passed, Will wondering if Christiana would even remember the promise she had given them: shelter as they pass back through. Perhaps she would and perhaps not. They could only go to the manor and find out. 

Will shifted in the saddle, glancing back at the wagon. His father dozed with gentle snores in the back of it amid their things. Roland held the reigns. They had prepared themselves well and fast for this journey, in hopes that it would be the last long one they need take. Will's title had already taken them through rough waters.

Title, hell, he thought. It was the manner he'd come to use, the ever present cloak of faint arrogance that had to be put on at all times to keep from being overtaken by others. After long months, Will had a good inkling of why Adhemar had behaved as though he had every right to do as he pleased. It was either behave that way or be trod upon.

Will heaved a long sigh. When had he become the man he was today? When had he begun to wear his hard won noble authority as his right, something no man could take from him even if his title was taken? Was there a single moment that he could pinpoint in time? No, now that he tried to think on it. It had simply happened, life wringing him out with it's trials and shaping him. He was a bit older, a bit wiser and very tired. He'd learned well what he needed to do and how to do it.

At the road towards the manor, they paused. Will stared down it, a million conflicted thoughts ringing about his mind.

Roland cleared his throat. "Do we go there?"

"She invited us to visit on our way back through."

"That's not what I asked."

He turned his gaze to his friend, sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I know it's not"

Silence stretched between them, the only sounds were those of nature and snores until Roland spoke once more. "Christiana will understand. You know she will."

Will thought on that a moment. Christiana would never know they'd been through here unless they sent a message telling her. She'd never know what happened to them and that somehow seemed wrong. They _could_ send word once they found Kate. Christiana, as Roland pointed out, would understand completely. She would accept their decision without question, with the grace Will had come to associate with her.

"We go on, Roland. To Italy." _And Kate_, he added silently.

They still had a long journey ahead of them.

* * *

The land was lush, flowers a mass of color everywhere Kate looked. She kept a close eye on Christopher, but honestly had no worries here. Christiana's cousin took good care of them and the household was quite taken with Christopher. He'd become the 'young master'. He was allowed to toddle about and terrorize the household as young children were bound to do if given little restraint. He was horribly spoiled and Kate herself was a major contributor to the spoiling, indulging Christopher when she honestly should not. 

Kate had been allowed to take up her work again, something she found she held a bit dearer to her after her absence from the field. She enjoyed taking up her tools and plying them, working with the blacksmith in the village. Wat and Anne had married, a simple ceremony in the courtyard. They were expecting their first child and Kate heartily suspected Anne was further along than she'd told. Would the baby have Wat's temper? Or would Anne's gentle temperament slip forth?

There was no sign of Will or Roland behind them and Kate supposed that they truly had to let their friends go. It was the way of life that some journeys end when people least expect them to. She couldn't quite dismiss Will's vow to find her, however. In her heart, Kate knew he was alive somewhere. Wouldn't she feel it if he wasn't? She still held the hope to her breast, cradling it as though it was the most precious thing in the world.

She closed her eyes.

Dear God, please bring him back to me.

For months, she'd prayed that prayer every day. There was not a time when she didn't think of her Will. Despite her resignation to the loss of one more love, she hoped. It was with great anticipation that she greeted riders to this manor and great disappointment to find none were Will or had news of him, until she no longer met riders, preferring to stay with Christopher.

This day was no different, the sound of bells announcing a rider or possibly a group of riders was coming. Kate's ears slid over the sound as commonplace, ignorable. There was nothing to be excited about. So too, was the commotion she heard in the courtyard. Commonplace. Ordinary. Day to day living.

Footsteps came quick up the stairs. She listened. They were quick, searching and she expected to hear Wat's voice or perhaps one of the other men of the household

"_Kate_."

The voice... She turned her head, hands going to her mouth. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she wondered if perhaps she'd fallen asleep and dreamed. If so, then this was a good dream and she didn't wish to waken.

Will stood in the doorway, Wat behind him dancing about with a silly grin, and there was Roland as well, helping Will's father down the wide corridor. On shaking legs, she stood. Her lips could not seem to form any words. Will was beautiful to her and she drank in the changes that had come over him since their parting. He wore a beard, the addition lending a hardness to his face that aged him, and he was, if possible leaner than she remembered, as though he'd neglected proper nourishment without her there to make him eat well. If there had been any boy left in him after the events with Adhemar, then that boy had finally gone, leaving before her a man fully grown.

He held out his arms to her. "Have I been gone so long that you've no greeting for me?" His voice trembled, the emotion riding those words taking restraint from her. Kate ran to him, throwing her arms about his neck. She welcomed his arms around her. The scents of leather and sunshine and all of the things she associated with him filled her nostrils and she was home. In his arms, she was content.

Will's mouth came down hard upon hers. She drank of his kisses as though they were water given to a woman dying of thirst. Kate drew back, threading her fingers in his hair. "You're really here. You found me." Her voice sounded breathless to her ears.

"I said I would."

There was a tug at her skirt and then another one, Kate looking down to find Christopher at her leg, demanding attention. Slowly, she released Will and bent, taking Christopher in her arms and lifting him up. Her heart ached with pride to be the one to introduce Will to his son. There was no doubt in her mind that he would love Christopher with the same passion he loved all of those about him. "This is Christopher, Will."

He stared at the boy, lips parted. Hesitantly, he stretched out a hand, brows raising in surprise when one tiny hand caught at his and curious eyes looked him over. "He looks like Jocelyn."

"I know." Kate had come to terms with that long ago and now that Will was back with her, she vowed to give him many more children. She touched Will's cheek, stroked it with her fingers. "Don't you ever leave me again, William Thatcher."

He smiled, eyes twinkling good humor and a hint of devilry. "I don't plan it, Kate. Not again."

She returned his smile.

Sometimes, journeys end when a person least wants them to and other times, a journey picks up where it left off. She looked forward to their continuing journey together.

* * *

'Dear Christiana,

We hope sincerely that this missive finds you well. By 'we', I mean myself, Kate, Wat, Roland and Anne. Roland and I debated a long while before deciding to not take you up on your offer of shelter on our way back through the region. I am sorry. It's not that we didn't want to see you again. I hope you know that. Roland insists you'll understand, but I still feel I should explain myself.

I had to find Kate. I couldn't take a moment longer. I couldn't dally while my heart was hundreds of miles from me. Does that make any sort of sense? I hope it does and again, we hope you're well. Even Adhemar. I am indebted to him and you for the care you both gave my son. Thank you.

Kate has blossomed in the Italian sun. She was even more beautiful when I found her than when I sent her to safety. The image of her in that room with her hair long and loose about her remains etched in my mind. Wat claims all she did was mope about for months, but I can't tell it to look at her. She's positively giddy these days. Her smile makes my mind whirl and I cannot believe she is mine again. I'd like to think I'm the sole cause of her happiness, but I should confess that I'm not. Apparently, Italy agrees with all of us. Are you ready to hear this? Kate is pregnant. It must have been right after we arrived and she is in glowing health. I look forward to the coming months. She's predicting we'll soon have a household of pattering little feet to care for. I can think of nothing else I yearn for at present.

Wat and Anne have married and Anne is looking ready to burst with their babe. Babies are everywhere and Italy is the perfect place for us to raise them. We will not, none of us, be returning your way. Italy is our home now. I wish I could claim we would see you again, but unless you travel here, I don't see that possible.

Christopher is a delight to me, although sometimes I do wish Jocelyn had lived to raise him. I see her in him, Christiana. When he smiles, it is her and when he laughs it is her as well and I find I am nostalgic for the past. Not all of the past, mind you, just what was pleasing.

Your cousin Francesca has been a good friend to all of us and I am learning the ways of this people under her husband's tutelage. The truth of it all didn't bother them in the least. They took everything we had to say in stride and didn't blink an eye. I'm happy here. My father enjoys this land as well.

Write us if you care to and I'm sure Francesca has sent you a letter. Kate told me she'd said she would and if there's one thing I've learned of Francesca, it's that she does exactly what she says she will.

There is more to say and more to remember, but I believe I'll let it be for now. As the seasons turn around and around into years, we've enough time to write all we like.

Love from all,

William Thatcher'

Christiana re-rolled the letter and leaned over the arm of her chair to look into the wooden box that had come with the letter. Francesca had sent a shipment of various items with the letters. Francesca had written four times total. Christiana planned to savor the letters, to...

"Well? Aren't you going to read the next one?"

She looked up at the impatience in her husband's voice and giggled to find him swathed in strips of fabric that Francesca had sent. His mother was circling him, muttering about the colors not being quite right for him, but that the fabric was excellent quality. Marian's ladies were standing off to one side, their collective gazes indicating that Adhemar was at the end of his temper and ready to strike out. That wasn't the case. Christiana could tell very easily if her husband was about to yell and he was not going to any time soon.

"It's still in the box." When she shifted to stand from the chair, he strode forward, tripping over trailing fabric and throwing it all onto the floor, heedless of the dirty look Marian flashed him.

"Sit. You will sit from now until you give birth and I'll not hear another word of you doing anything more taxing than embroidering."

With a small smile, Christiana rubbed her slightly pregnant belly as she settled back into the chair. She wasn't anywhere near needing to watch what she lifted, but it was sweet to have everyone in the manor thinking she was. After Cheney's death, it had taken awhile for the manor to settle back down, yet once it had, she'd suddenly noticed the possibility of her current condition. Marian had immediately sung the praises of those vile drinks she'd been forcing on Christiana, while Damien strutted about.

Of course, Christiana had nothing to do with it. It wasn't, as she'd pointed out to Annelle, as though there had to be two for conception. Oh no, Adhemar did it all himself. They'd shared a laugh at it and a few more at the enthusiasm with which Damien threw himself into the role of prospective father.

He'd had a small, child-sized sword made and heaven help the person who suggested that Christiana carried a girl. It didn't matter in the end, she decided. He'd be happy with a boy or a girl and happy to continue making more. A boy would make him delirious and a girl would wrap him about her finger in seconds.

He knelt, fingers grasping the last letter in the box and holding it up to her. His hand lingered with hers before he returned himself to his mother's fussings. Damien stood still while Marian wrapped him in greens and browns and reds and did it all because Christiana had asked him to indulge his mother. With Cheney gone and an heir on the way, Marian had decided to remain with them. Truthfully, Christiana had come to like the woman. She was stubborn and contrary and so much like Damien.

As for Damien... Christiana adjusted her dress. He was still maddeningly infuriating, arrogant and smug, but he was hers. They had their troubles and disagreements, as any married couple did, but they were learning to deal with each other. It would be an ongoing process, something that would take their entire lives and Christiana was more than happy to take that time. A lifetime would not be enough time to fully know one another.

The letter was opened and read, pondered upon and answered and life, inevitably, went on.

* * *

'Greetings from Italy, my dearest Lady Christiana. And family of course. I cannot leave out Count Adhemar.

Imagine my surprise to step onto Italian soil with business for my king and hear of kinsmen in this region. Taking a well-deserved personal journey a few miles to the east, I sought out these kinsmen, thinking to bring them news of home. Imagine then, my greater astonishment to find William Thatcher greeting me and in Italian even! And the rest of this lot. Kate is, as always, a saucy wench and Wat assures me that I'm still a good for nothing scribe, so all is well in this life.

Such excitement and adventures since I've left you all, and none of them concerning me. I've led a staid and dull life these long, long months. For King and country I have toiled and toiled some more. I've hardly had a breath of thrill upon my back.

I'm saddened to hear of Jocelyn. I liked her very much. I am not, however, sad to learn that you are well and presumably happy. Perhaps if I'm in Anjou, I'll come by to visit you. Then again, I'm afraid my travels won't likely take me to you and I'm never in one place for long. My days as a carefree soul are behind me. It is with much regret that I say this. I do still feel the pull to set out on grand adventures. Alas, they must sweep by me now. I can only look on. Duties call me, as it seems to always happen in the end. We gain responsibilities as we grow, yes? We settle down into propriety of sorts and begin to truly live day by day and year by year.

If you feel the inescapable urge to reply to this rather short letter, you may send one to my home in London. Philippa keeps my correspondence and I answer when I'm there. I would enjoy hearing from you and learning of your own adventures. I would enjoy keeping up a correspondence.

You know, I'm afraid I'm addicted to the tales people tell of life; their sorrows, their trials, their happiness and triumphs. I enjoy watching life whirl those about me in her grasp, taking them to and fro and on a wild thrilling ride.

May your journey through this life be a blessed one.

Yours,

Geoffrey Chaucer'

The End

* * *

Author's note: Writing Chaucer always puts me in a contemplative mood. As sometimes happens, and I've noted on other fics, this story ended what it never started out as to begin with. The original story of Adhemar and Christiana was darker and the side story of Kate and Will was actually a story all to itself. I did have a final love scene planned between Adhemar and Christiana, but felt the story really didn't need it (sorry, 'shippers), although it is fully written.

Hope you've enjoyed,

Kasey

(_March 2005_)


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